Stepping Stones

Within one's own world
Is a hidden garden. 
The entrance is within
Bowing, entwining oaks, 
The path beyond
Locked away from those who fail
To hold the individual key. 
Past these first is a stream 
Which flows forever-
There is never an end.
Flat white rocks meander 
In the middle of this slow current,
Stepping stones no wider
Than one's own foot. 
Gold and pink speckled fish 
Make this water their home, 
Glistening in secret
As they graze over sunken pebbles.
The garden itself is as narrow,
Evergreens on either side
As far as the eye can see
Lest one wonders off the path 
And away from the stream.
The stream is one's only hope
To forget the chaos outside, 
Shared by all, savored by none. 
The only sound to be heard
Within the solitude, the garden
Is the fluent, glittering stream. 
One can accompany the stones
On their happy, eternal journey,
Never tiring but staring in awe
As the sky revolves and changes
In each unrealized moment. 
Half way to forever
There is a bench where one may sit
And ponder what following
And running and dancing
With the stepping stones
Has created within oneself. 
Then when the rest is done,
One may continue on
And use the knowledge,
Lessons learned by the stones
For the remaining of the travels.