If you drop a yellow hat in the Red Sea, what does it become?

A quiet swell upon the land, too small for peaks, yet still I stand.

Thousand upon thousands of grains am I, beneath the sun and open sky. I line the shores and deserts wide, where small hands build, and waves decide.

I wear a blanket cold and white, Where trees refuse to grow upright. Caribou wander, foxes play, And summer lasts but a short lived stay.

I hang outside but never fall, I’m not a room, yet part of all. With rails to guard and views so wide, People stand on me outside.