It grows each morning, shrinks each night,

Light as air, yet makes no flight.

It will not budge, though it be hollow;

Move its maker, and it will follow.

Within the Mountains are they born,

But Mountains aren’t their home.

Though fed on only water,

Without a rest they roam.

They ever seek each other,

But each in each is lost

Till reaching home, they gather,

And then give up their ghost.