Daniel Young - River Stone

Beaten ‘round its river home,
the icy current on its bone.
Resting shade of passing icthus,
does nothing for its deepest wishes.

No one knows the river stone.
Never plucked from its home.
Until a fisher steps on it,
and moves it from its final fit.

Fingers come and cut the mirror.
greyed-eyes whisper to the hearer.
Deaf hands then skipped a pence,
and it has found a new home since.

Never is the ending done,
we stones never know who will come.

Daniel Young

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/river-stone/