Rocks

The rock flew through the clouds,

Total destruction in its wake.

Thwack, it hit the ground.

Then as the rock cooled,

Tactile steam rose, caused by the falling rain.

Traces of a river started to form and the rock started to smooth.

Too soon the river dried out, the rock lay in the sun,

Terribly smooth and mossy.

The sun took its toll, burning away the moss.

Thousands of seasons came and went.

The rock slowly began to crack.

Then if it was summer or autumn the rain fell,

Thronging in the many cracks and crevices.

Then as it turned to winter, the water would freeze expanding the cracks.

Though the rock was strong. 

'Twas ripped apart and forced to crumble away.

Turning slowly into gravel.

Totally untraceable from its beginning in space.

The rock was now a pile of gravel, 

Twisting through the forests, far from its beginning.