text: He waits for the middays wind
  The wave comes and lies down wearily
  With a fan every day
  The old one makes the water smooth
  I throw the stone for fun
  The water moves in circles
  The old one looks sadly at me
  And swept it smooth again
  In the white sand, the old man
  Trembling, smokes his pipe
  Only the water and I know
  Why he needs this fan
  Premonition sleeps like a volcano
  Hesitating, I asked him then
  His head bent, it seemed he slept
  Before he died he said
  The water shall be your mirror
  Only when it is smooth will you see
  How much fairy tale is left for you
  And you will plead for salvation
  The fan pressed against his body
  His hand stiffens with rigor mortis
  They had to break his fingers
  The fan stays back in the sand
  I call the old one every day
  For him to save me here
  I stay back in the middays wind
  And I can read in the fan
  The water shall be your mirror
  Only when it is smooth will you see
  How much fairy tale is left for you
  And you will plead for salvation