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.