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
