Easter Tuesday: The Stone
The stone, which once sat,
In the dingiest corner,
The home for all refuse,
All dust and all junk,
The stone, once rejected
By builders who saw it
As useless, untidy,
Awkward and poor,
That stone and its brothers –
That ramshackle quarry
Of pebbles and off-cuts,
The debris of ruins –
Now stand as a house,
A glorious palace,
Stadia by stadia
In height and in width.
Those stones, they now sparkle
And glimmer in light
Such as none of those builders
And labourers ever saw,
And firm in foundation,
Its worth all displayed,
Surrounded by rubble
Now glorious and great,
The stone once rejected
(The stone on which builders
Tripped and cut toes)
Now stands in the corner,
The prince of the stones.
The Consolations of Writing 