A Rock.

A rock. On the floor.

What does it mean?

Maybe it was there during the age of the dinosaurs.

Maybe Thomas Jefferson shook its coarse hand.

Maybe it was chipped from a mountainside.

Maybe it was part of something grand.

Maybe it fell from the glittering stars.

It could be so much, unlimited by anything.

A simple rock.
Yet anyone can write anything.

It could be a pet,
A hawk,
A hero.

The rock is so plain,

Which is why it can
Have any story.

So much meaning, tucked away

In an old, lumpy package.

Too bad I will never open this package, nor will I find a special story

For this rock, on the floor.