Once a little stone
Was lying in a field
Till someone picked him up
Polished him
Joined him with other stones
and made him part of a wall
He wasn't a stone anymore
Free to lie in the dust
Until the rain came
To make him clean again
He was cemented in a wall
Surronded, Crowded by other stones
He was hardly noticed before
Now everyone saw the wall
Of which he was a part
But the wall was in a field
And did nothing, protected nothing
Led to nothing
It was only a wall in a field
Standing alone made by men
Who thought they should use the stone for something
And the little stone will remain there
Till the wall falls down
Or someone knocks it down
Then he will be a stone again
And get dusty, feel the rain
And the soft feet of children.
--James Kavanaugh
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