Who placed each earth-clung stone
upon the other?
Or, did some farmer of old toss them
in a wavering line?
When did you sprout your first
hairy moss and gray lichen?
Was that berry vine forever entwined
along your frame?
Did you watch white pine seedlings
stretch into mature denizens?
When a storm-thrashed one fell, crashing upon you,
did you moan before sinking deeper?
Did it tickle when chipmunks
scampered about your crooks and nooks?
When the snakes came a-crawling,
did you shudder?
When children built a leafy teepee nearby,
did you protest
when several of your rocks
were used for a fire ring?
Did you pine for
your lost segments,
rent asunder
by roving snowmobilers?
Are you aware of how loved you are?
Of how many photos of
your New England self
dwell in our albums?
You, old stone wall, wandering over hill
and through the woods,
are the continuum
of our 'spirit home.'