I was lost upon my path alone
When I came upon a small stone
Affixed upon vastly larger rocks
That in reference were but play blocks
Sitting beneath great mountains.
These monoliths of the planet,
In turn, but droplets in cosmic fountains.
The question then arose:
In rhyme within a prose-
What meaning is this existence
If all importance is but self-pretense?
Where then the small touchstone keepsake
Touched upon me knowledge - of my forsake.
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