DIFFERENT SPEEDS

The boulder sits there stolidly
in the middle of the stream.
It likely doesn't notice me
save maybe in some stoney dream.

I first saw it when my hair was thick
and youth coursed strongly in my veins
No thought of age or walking stick.
nor notice paid slick moss and pains.

Many times I waded my way past.
Many trout I've pulled out of its eddy
with some dry fly lightly cast
as water went by fast and steady.

All those years now come and gone.
That brooding boulder has not changed
nor has the bed it sits upon
while much of me has rearranged.

I know that not many more years
will see me walking this stream side
and unlike mankind's toils and tears
this old stone will sit here and abide.