Elongated Cube

It must be ancient, I thought
as I picked up the red, hardened clay,
the paver discarded and unused
from a road or path where it belonged far away

Turning it, I can see the weathered top
upon which a thousand feet or hooves trod
and flipped, a stain, encrusted mud
from where the brick was pressed into the sod

How it got here, what its journey
may have been can remain a mystery
Even if, by some chance, this brick
were touched by famous hands in history

All of its legend and its lore
baked into the soil from which it was made
upon its destruction, crashing against the rock
from the force of my throw to vanish instantly, not to fade