No cape, no fame, no thank you note, I dive into the dirty moat, One hard push and two or three, I set the trapped water free.

Leaves like a fig, But I never grow very big. Small emeralds and amethysts On vines that bend and twist. Drunk on the spirit of me, Many men go crazy.

I’m beneath your feet where the waves roll in, a million tiny grains that stick to your skin.

Where the money TRULY is. Yours, at least

I am small enough to hold in your palm, Yet I wear a sweet crown of spun cloud. I dress in a pleated paper skirt, baked to delight a gathering crowd.