On the sands of a white-maned summer
With the crash of a carefree wave
He roamed in solitude somewhere
Choosing dreams from his memory's cave
Recalling brief moments in time
Reviving seasons, years gone by
He felt a dry and cool clime
Ships disappearing in the sky
Leaving nothing behind but a trace
He lamented, nothing to regain
No one would write of his grace
A century lost like a hurricane
In the distance, a village rustled
Following tradition day by day
Parrots chattered in the bushes
Inviting a lazy drowsiness to stay
Boys dug in the ravine
Etching symbols on the slopes
No eternal saga they'd glean
Their eyes burning with hope
Potter's wheels they spun with care,
Iron furnace loudly roared,
Who knew that just one bowl
Could time preserve for evermore.
And bottles, thick barrels too,
Were used until their end,
Rolling through holes and pits,
To be foundations for a friend.
On the sands of summer's prime,
With carefree waves' soft hum,
He sat and turned away from light,
To dream and let his mind become.
Drowned in abysses and in cages,
Labyrinths of deeds long gone,
Where no lamps or stars did shine,
His smarts and bravery, all undone.
He left no gift of chalk behind,
No trace on life's great board,
No mark with word or deed,
Just drew with stick upon the shore.
And like that stick, he too will fade,
Washed away by tide's great force,
He chose a humble peace of mind,
Instead of shining at life's great course.
