The pebble

There lived an old pebble,

Plain and gray,

On the top of a mountain,

Far, far away.

He had spent all of his life

Being quiet and still,

Never thinking his thoughts.

Never dreaming. Until

He was suddenly poked.

Right down to his core!

Then it happened again,

Then a few times more.

Flabbergasted, old pebble

Could not figure out

That there was

Someone there

That needed to sprout.

“Dear pebble,” it said.

“I would like you to know,

I’m directly beneath you

And, simply, can’t grow.

If it doesn’t disturb you,

May I ask you to please

Move aside just a little,

So, at least, I can breathe?”

“Move aside?” asked the pebble.

“Move away from this spot?

I don’t think I can do that.

This spot’s all I have got.

I am very confused.

This is all quite strange.

I don’t think I can move.

I don’t want things to change!”

“Oh,” the voice under said.

“I’m rather troubled too

Since I can’t choose the place

Where I grow through.

I might be very little,

But I wish you would know,

It’s a painful truth to be stuck and not grow.

Dear old gray pebble,

Will you listen to me?

If you move just a little

You can let me be free!”

The pebble kept quiet,

Looking up at the skies

As the shoot tickled less,

Then gave up on its tries.

Till at last, all was silent,

Like the moments before.

No tickles were felt

By the rock anymore.

The pebble could simply

Continue to live

And think nothing at all

Of his life on the cliff.

But, alas, he could not,

As the shoot’s faint plea

Made him think long and hard

What it meant to be free.

“Hey, invisible soul!

Are you there, green bean?

Can you further explain

What does free really mean?”

“I’m here, old pebble,

Though not very snappy.

What is freedom, you ask?

It is what makes you happy.

To be free is to grow,

As tall as a tree.

To imagine, to dream

Is what it means to be free.

And to do as you wish,

And to wish not to lose.

To be free is to move

Any way you might choose.

That is freedom, my friend,

I so wish you to know.

But I’m getting quite weak.

It’s my time to go.”

“Hang in there, green bean!

Don’t give up on your will!

Let your freedom arise

On the top of this hill!

Most likely I won’t

Get as tall as a tree

But you still have the chance

To stretch tall over me!

I will set you, plant, free!

That is what I decide.

You, young seed, push your hardest

As I move to the side.”

And together they moved

Each its own right way.

And together they pushed

All the limits away.

Did I move?” asked the pebble.

“Did I turn myself over?

Wait a minute! I see you -

A tiny green clover!

You have done it! You’re here

On this hill, near me.

Tell me now, green soul,

Are you finally free?”

Happy clover kept rising

Through the air of blue

“Am I free, you are asking?

Yes, I am.

Just like you.”