Smiling Stone

On a beach I once had known
she gave to me a smiling stone
of bloody red and palest gold
that an ancient story told
a tale of when there were no seas
no foaming sprays upon the breeze
where only mountains moved and sighed
in epochs drawn before the tides
were rife with small and bristling things
‘fore the silence began to sing
of life that ran, and swam, and flew
before the first trees ever grew
at pace unknown to rocks as these
yet still this slow earth in its ease
makes all this life at end its own
so hence the knowing smiling stone.