Pebble Dust

apoem about the innner life of a pebble. Written for A good use of Words Campfire.

That's my youngest there,
atop this hill
looking brave like
me, his father.
I know he sees me,
here in this boulder graveyard,
looking up as he sits
where I once did.
His brothers make their way
slowly down to me,
as if they could return
me to a full life.
I am but a pebble now,
sitting here at the bottom,
among my friends.
Content to watch my children
and theirs. Knowing,
by the time they reach me,
I will be but the dust
that softens their fall.