I belong on a table, In a garden, or where one path becomes two.

I am born from stone, but I crumble to dust to leave my mark. I speak in white on walls of slate, teaching lessons or drawing games, yet the touch of a damp cloth vanishes me forever.

I start as a treasure buried by a friend, Who forgets where I am, but that’s not my end. I wear a small cap that I never take off, Even when winds make the giant trees cough. I am a castle in a tiny brown shell, Waiting to break through the ground where I fell. Though I am small now, a squirrel's quick prize, A mighty green oak from my body will rise.

Hangs from a tree to give it style Then falls to the ground to be raked in a pile.

I hide where edges meet and wood is shaved ,A dip or groove, a pathway firmly paved. Take me away, and larger things will fit; Mark me in time, and I’m a moment lit .I never leave, yet absence is my space.