Summer turns to autumn and leaves cascade: yellow, orange and red like a flame. If only that were enough to keep me warm. The snow is coming soon and I will fall to sleep. Still I hope that someone or something will move me.
I know that I cannot take root in a rock, but it is my nature. When the spring comes, I will make my home here.
Cold, unyielding stone why do you mock me? I understand I am bound to die here. Still I sit and I wait.