Draw in, then drift away,
Sands of time, time, and more time,
They drift now as they drifted long before
Softly filtered through the waves,
tossed about, lost in caves,
Yet they won't die, they'll always stay, those sweet sands of winter's day.
Where they go, they have no say,
depends on how the wind swirls that day.
Drifting in, in, and out,
Around the world and back again, just to start back where they began
Sweet sands of winter's day
Minute particles of our complicated time, yet without them, would life be so divine?
No sand to wash, out of hair, no children building castles under piers, no victims heads sticking out of the sand, with little angels playing around them.
No sand between those little toes, nor footprints following where ever big ones go.
No time for it no time to play, those sweet sweet sands of winter's day.
