rolling stones

To be among the others being 
as huddled stones well rounded by this pressing role of stream 
In brook of time forced unrelenting
It passes over under deep
Our everything submerged
Sharp edges turned to curve
And crooked lines to end impending,
once roused up from this woken dream,
If then and when we look behind, see carved within the dirt
We haven't choice but to except this road we can't unsee 
And so we shut our eyes
And let we keep on rolling
Worn till but grains of sand
We hold our breath, asleep...