Silver stones come tumbling,
A rum-tum-tumbling down,
Surfing the scree, jostling bones,
The turquoise lake of mirrors far below.
They ride unbridled and light
As the shimmering night.
Smelt in cold secrecy,
These stones, through aeons
Of burial, issue termini of material.
At last showered with sky and peaked,
Elliptical bent, the rose complete,
Hushed the fauna, trees, and cloud,
Were by reprisal, blip of rumbling sound.