I am nothing, for I am nothing compared to the willow which she embarks her mark upon. The stone which she carves her heart into, the wind where she dances the song of love.

   For I am nothing but the dirt she walks upon, the dust she spares no glance.
  
   But the rock she gazes upon looks at her with life and love. And the dirt is left there to wither and rot, and the light gives us love, but I am not in the light I am yet dirt.

   Do I receive no love? And as she dances in the wind, the rock will always follow and the dirt will stay and be left behind...