The whisperer, the quiet dreamer,
The calmer of thoughts,
Languishing beneath the waves,
Perishing in the cold,
The draft of wind,
The coolest touch,
He floats, awaits his fate.
The shallowness, returning blossom,
Colours the ground before the shore,
Slowly, the whisperer will arrive,
Majestically he will crash towards the sands,
Then out of the white horses,
A flash a brilliant light,
In front of all he stands.
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