Final Rest

By the river in the silent morning sat a particular stone, Among many, but it stood alone. The little stone had a plan, It wanted to cross the river’s span With all the others, it jumped with its unique stride And after starting, it joined the tide With every toss, a leap of faith, In the dance of the river, the skip’s wraith. Why was this stone the chosen one? Its tale skips under the golden sun. Could it make it to the depth’s mystery? That’s only a tale of the bridge’s history. The longer it took, the more rounds passed. It was proving its worth, steadfast to the last. It had to make it; the end was near, With each bouncing stride, it conquered fear. The skipping stone told its stories, Of arcing flights and watery glories. After everything, the stone went through, It reached the end, its journey true. All the bridges crossed, and it sunk through the water’s kiss, It’s skipping legacy, a moment of bliss. This journey was it, the stone’s test. It made it to its final rest.