He's waiting for the midday wind

And waves spread out so dull and slack

And with a hand fan every day

The old man smooths the water back

I cast a stone in just for fun

The water rings moved on the plane

So sadly stood the old man by

And swept the water flat again

In white sand the old man sat

Trembling as he smoked his pipe

Just the water and I know that

The fan is of a special type

Awareness sleeps volcano dreams

Reluctant I asked him why

His head hung low as if he slept

And the he said before he died

The water will be your only mirror

First when it's like glass can you see

How many fairytales you have left

For your deliverance you will plead

The fan was pressed to his breast

Just as death's grip seized up his hand

His fingers must have been so tight

The fan remained back in the sand

I call the old man every day

Should he come and deliver me

I stay here with the midday wind

And in the fan it is plain to read

The water will