She kneaded it

and stretched it,
puzzling over
which shape looked best,
and then tossed it to the boy,
who let it sit
for the longest time
until, fully grown,
he did a body slam
right into the center of it.
The little girl,
picking it up gingerly,
thought that was
how it was supposed to look
until she read a fairy tale
that showed her what a happy ending
she could make out of it.
She thereupon set out
on a multi-decade quest
to reshape it in startling
new ways.
Upon seeing the outcome,
the people of the town
all agreed that this was
how it must have looked
since time immemorial,
until, many years later,
some started to wonder
why it had to be there
at all.
They broke pieces of it off
and rolled them into
amusing little cubes and triangles.
Eventually,
the restless motorcycle gang
stole most of it,
(ignoring the little
cubes and triangles),
and used it
to build their new headquarters.
Age killed the last of them off,
and the really bright kid
who was sorting through their
tattered clubhouse's remains
pounded it into a
wonderful pillar, covered with
beautifully detailed inscriptions,
all describing its eternal
and everlasting
nature.