I marched once tall in inland soil, then felt the ocean’s call, Now I keep time with creaking ropes and hear the bosun’s bawl. No mast nor sail do I command, yet still I ride the brine, Passed from storm to storm like verse between the beats of time. I wash ashore to end the song where foamy choruses stood. What am I, sung by wind and wave, the sailor’s silent wood?

I drift in silence, pale and grand, a frozen form where oceans stand. Above the waves I gently gleam, below I’m larger than I seem.

I fall from cans in silver streams, To wake up roots and feed their dreams. In gardens, fields, and pots I sing, Life awakens when I bring. Too little, plants begin to fade, Too much, and muddy mess is made. What am I, that nourishing thing, But make sure you add your ing.

In the dark, I'm most alive, Twinkling lights, I'm passing by, A reflection shows my gentle face, A world of dreams, in a secret place.