Where Meadow and edge of Forest met
    A pudding-stone, massive conglomerate,
Had fallen from High Cliff above
    When Wind and Rain began to shove,
And down he came and there he sat,
    Cold, grey, and bare and bald and fat.

He overpowered all the scene,
    Distant, aloof and towering.
He didn’t seem to know or care
    That he’d displaced the others there,
And all the Forest dwellers found
    That Stone had best be got around.

About his feet ran little Stream,
    Her course diverted by his beam.
While on her way, Fern’s spores shook off.
    Some landed on Stone’s old, hard toff.
 “Sorry,” she said. Had she not been green
    Red would have coloured her lacy screen.

Stone sat as though he hadn’t heard,
    As deaf as stone to her humble word.
He seemed unfriendly, hard and grey,
    A stranger getting in their way,
And Fern and Moss and all the rest
    Left Stone alone which seemed the best.

Well, the wee spores found a niche each one,
    And Rain came down and dappled Sun,
And soon across old Stone’s bald top
    Appeared a sprouting ferny crop,
But rather than frown on this youthful gig
    He kind of liked the feathery wig.

It saved his pate from pelting rain
    And too much sun which came again.
Seeing how well her Fern friends grew
    Moss thought of her own she’d send a few.
She had lots of eager little spores
    Just waiting to run through open doors.

Plenty they found on Stone’s broad side
    And in they went and there they bide,
Covering Stone with soft green felt,
    Cinching him in with a sturdy belt,
And all the Forest green folk found
     Like Stream, he could be ’got around’.

So they looked up and he looked down
    And the little Ferns atop his crown
Said,  “Really, he’s not a jerk at all.
    He was just alone once he’d had his fall,
And we and Moss and Stone together
    All hold fast through any weather.

”He’s turned into a sturdy friend
    Willing to stand though he can’t bend.
We all can move, old Stone cannot,
    And where he lands is where he’s caught.
He doesn’t have the choice of space
    Given to us in this green place.”

When others heard the young so pleased
    Hard thoughts about old grey Stone eased,
So soon more Forest habitants
    Beside his shelter chose their haunts,
And found his big bulk welcomed all
    Through Summer, Winter, Spring and Fall.

Now there they live in Forest green,
    Young and old and in between,
Youth through age in rain and snow,
    Bridging the gap of high and low,
Sharing the warmth of summer Sun.
    Would it were like that for everyone.