Through the sands which follow the green come an isle.
This isle; no-one but me has seen.
The waters flow sweet through the desert garden and the song is even sweeter.
For there lies in wait, the desert keeper.
He keeps his sword as handy as his heart,
But stares on as the song follows.
When a person grows heavy and shows their thought,
The keeper steps up, and offers his hand.
The person is led into the sandy swallow,
Where another garden waits.
A smile curves upon his face,
And laughs for such an unusual place.
When the keeper returns the dance is merry,
And so is it when the keeper leaves.
But every time the keeper returns,
There is one less in the garden.
I look on upon the merry plot,
Too afraid to dance.
As when they dance, those people are led
Away from the garden in thorough stead.
Eventually each person leaves,
And I return my thought to the sandy swallow.
As I await the keeper, he does not come except when I repose my back.
He comes with a smile, and I find my own.
Together we leave the garden alone.
And through the sand more people are lead,
To dance, and be happy instead.