The Rock

A poem from the road

The rock remains. E'er winter storm and squall
Of summer pound the moss-slick cliffs and twist
The trees that cover like a ratty shawl,
Enshrouding all in banks of morning mist.

The rock remains. The river, flowing down
From melting mountains, laps its fundament.
E'en with the rising tide, it cannot drown
The isle. It can do naught but circumvent.

The rock remains. The unrelenting sea
Excoriates the mount with moon-timed swell
And sends its waves against it on a spree
That would ensure the bravest sailor's knell.

The rock remains. Immovable. Unspalled.
A stone against which nature's pow'r is stalled.