A little poetry

The Little Rock

One day there lay a little rock
Up high upon a hill,
So far it saw from its high nest,
It thought it was a bird at rest,
And every day it took to say
'One day I'll fly, I will!'

The days went by, the suns and moons,
And still the rock lay still,
Determined with a sure resolve
To one day soar uphill.
The rains came down, the thunder struck,
The rock it bore it all,
Until that is a boulder rolled,
It rolled downhill, and smashed, and smote,
And crushed it in its fall.

The rock then knew itself no more,
For dust it had become,
Yet blown aloft by winds galore,
It met the heaven's call.