Woven like tapestries We lay against the dune, She read fiction As I read life, Concentrating on a child’s hands. Building her palace on golden sands. ; There’s a story in my eyes It’s reaching the end And when they close Some will wish they’d read them And words, Some will wish they had said them. Then came the consuming tide the child’s Palace crumbled, her desperate hands burrowed I was humbled And then she cried, Standing up as her world fell down Defiant and pure, And I silent Forevermore.