Stones

I like stones at the road and in the field, -
Whether they rebelliously rise from the earth
Or lie low and flat.
Their granite harshness I warmly caress
No less than feathery and furry creatures. But now of a stone I think, -
That after cooling off
From the Lord's creative breath
It longed for Cain's murderous hand
With its sharp edge
The Pentateuch's singing heart to rend.

In vain I think which is the one.
Does it hide in a pile of bretheren-stones?
Or is it the stone that from the field
Greets the early sun with a smile -
It's perpetual false shield?
Or burdened with heavy guilt
It quietly lies in a dark cave
And listens to our time's grim rave?
Or perhaps through millennia
Being swept by endless winds
Into dust
It was finally lost.

by MENAHEM STERN