Once there was a stone, rough and cold,
Lying forgotten in the earth, growing old.
It dreamt of soaring, of reaching the sky,
But bound by its weight, it could only sigh.

It asked the wind, "Why do I stay?
Why can't I move and dance through the day?"
The wind whispered softly, "You were meant to be still,
To teach the others the weight of the will."

And so the stone, though it longed to fly,
Became the foundation where others lie.
In silence, it watched as the world spun by,
Rooted in place, beneath the open sky.

A bird flew by, light and free,
And saw the stone, and felt the plea.
It landed and asked, "Why don't you rise?
Can't you see the world is full of skies?"

The stone replied, "I was made to remain,
To teach through stillness, not through pain.
You soar above, but I touch the ground,
Without me, where would you be found?"

The bird was puzzled, its wings spread wide,
It flew once more, with the wind as its guide.
But in the sky, it felt the weight,
Of all that was lost, and could not wait.

And in that moment, the stone could see,
The truth of both land and the sky's plea.
The bird was free, yet it needed the ground,
For no flight is true without roots to be found.

A tree then grew from the stone's side,
Its branches reaching, its roots inside.
The stone had a purpose it never had known,
A lesson learned—no one walks alone.

The sky above, the earth below,
Both are needed for life to grow.
For one cannot rise without the other's grace,
And each must find its rightful place.

So when you ask, "Why am I here?"
Look to the stone, the bird, the clear.
For life is not just to rise or fall,
But to find your purpose, to hear the call.

You are the stone, you are the sky,
You are the answer to the question, "Why?"
In your stillness, in your flight,
You carry the world, both dark and light.