A stone is thick, a mountain ever more,
And carvéd is the latter from the core
Of our green earth - it stands to reason, then,
That it should crumble and return again.
A venom is our time, and by its grip
Your peerless beauty and its kind shall rip
Alike my soul, and dash it all to dust.
Though strong and wilful now, we all will rust.
However, as I gaze up from its base,
The mountain seems to age at its own pace,
So monstrously large it stands apart
From our quick time, and this I keep to heart.
As fleeting as a star our love could be,
But by my eyes, it lives eternally.