Who am I?

Beautiful, you have called me.

A statue in your blooming garden.

The apple of your eye.

Yet I stand like stone before you,

Unable to lift my arms.

You call me marble,

You call me bronze,

But I feel like plaster

Waiting to melt in the rain.

The beauty you have bestowed upon me,

I cannot see.

And as the seasons change,

I am clothed.

In Spring,

I wear cherry blossom petals.

In Summer,

Birds and vines dance around me.

In Fall,

Leaves fashion my dress.

But in winter,

In winter, I am naked.

I am buried by the snow.

My self is never changing,

But what am I?

Am I Venus?

Am I David?

Or am I some unfathomable thing?

Perhaps,

I am no statue at all,

But a simple large stone.

Perhaps,

I am a rock,

That you can sit upon.

Where my meaning lies,

I have forgotten,

Please show me again.

What be the use of the statue, of the stone?