//------------------------------//
// No Moss 
// Story: Pony Verse: A Collaborative Collection of Pony Poetry 
// by darf 
//------------------------------//

			                                                         No Moss

I once asked Father on a dew filled May
“Why do we turn the rocks?” He looked away
And would not answer. Mother wouldn’t say.
But Granny shrugged, and whispered in my ear,
“Because we know no other way.”

It was strange to hear.
Our turning had no overseer
Of reason, only what the years
Had told us we should do,
And should do since we’re reared.

But was it true?
I can’t deny that doubts within me grew,
As too did hopes for some pure purpose to break through.
But after hours of pointless turning,
Those hopes and doubts withdrew.

I lost my yearning
To turn rocks, and concerning
All parts about their turning, I cared not, spurning
Their pointlessness. I could not see the use,
Nor did I care for learning.

I guess I seemed obtuse
To both my sisters, who worked without excuse,
And flipped the rocks, thinking my doubts a ruse.
But they ne’er heard her words that day,
And so lived unconfused.