We stood in the wind and watched the waves,
crashing below in tune with the clouds.
I wonder if under the water’s green,
a school of silver fish flashes in the sun,
and a lucky snorkeller found a sand-dollar.
We wondered these things on the mountain.
Everything moved slowly on the mountain,
while the tides kept crashing below into waves,
and the snorkeller ran up the shore with his sand-dollar.
Up above, all there is and ever will be is clouds
and the glowing face of the sun,
the rays giving life to the trees’ green.
We felt so small compared to the green,
tiny beings in the world of the mountain.
All we felt was the glare of the sun
while the fish glimmered and shone under the waves.
We kept walking up the path to the clouds,
while the man showed off his sand-dollar.
Why was it so important to him: the sand-dollar?
Maybe his life had been gray now turned green;
the idea of luck drew the sun out of the clouds.
We wished him a good life up on the mountain,
and the moon seemed to agree by lifting the waves,
turning day into night and gone is the sun.
We hiked down the red dirt in the fading sun,
hoping secretly to find our own sand-dollar
down at the shore in the waves.
We brushed past flowers and leaves green,
green brushes like a goodbye from the mountain.
Watching from above were the clouds.
We laid back and watched the clouds,
the shapes now dark without the sun.
I laid back facing the mountain,
its round hills like a sand-dollar.
The birds flew over the green,
while always moving, were the waves.
We watched the clouds and swam through the waves.
On the mountain we found our sand-dollar;
fading was the sun over the green.