Stone

One day he found a grain of sand
among the lint in his pocket.
It had a curious feel
he kept rolling it around
between his fingers.
He didn't notice
that it had grown into a pebble,
smooth and almost burgundy red.
When it was the size of a gemstone
he had a jeweler set it in a ring
that he was fond of wearing
until it bent the posts
and he had to wear it
on a chain around his neck.
It never occurred to him
that he should discard it
and when it grew too heavy
he carried it on his shoulders.
One day they found him
dead beneath it.
They buried him with it.
Now his grave is a hill
where strange mushrooms grow. 
Do not pick them
for they are poison.