I found a piece of driftwood, soaked upon the sand,
Drifted to my native shore from a distant land.
I took that piece of driftwood and burned it in the fire:
Blue for sorrow, green for strife, and gold for my desire.
I came upon a boulder, perched upon a hill,
Balanced there without a care, for me to work my will.
I pushed that boulder down the slope, a tumbling roaring storm:
Grey for madness, white for fear, and orange for loveless scorn.
I saw a piece of coral, as crimson as could be,
Scarlet-bright beneath the night, under the darkling sea.
I held that piece of coral and threw it on the shore:
Black for death, and red for blood, the apple’s fallen core.