Fresh Face

High on an old sandstone cliff
Can only mean something cracked,
And sure enough, there’s the slide.

Most likely no one saw it.
The pallid slice of raw stone
Tens of millions of years old,

Hidden in itself so long,
Will start to gather varnish
From wind and rain and seepage,

And then, in a few lifetimes
Or many, another slice.
Earth is so methodical,

Unlike life. Strange, that children
Have so little in common
With their ultimate parent.