The Stepping Stone

I lay on a shore
a well -formed stone
feeling blessed
hundreds stepped on me
to reach their boats;
None looked back
Few bid goodbye
as they sailed away.
Non remembered
that stepping stone
that supine lay.

With passing time
worn and brittle
grow that stone
no longer fit to be
a stepping stone
Now unwanted
kicked out of their path
by travellers,
in my mind
their memories haunt
each footprint
an immortal print
on my burning soul.