Classic Poem

From some faraway island whose name I do not know
a single coconut has washed up here.

Since you left your homeland shore,
how many months have you spent on the waves?

Is the tree that bore you alive and green?
Can its fronds still offer shade?

I too have the beach for my pillow,
a lone traveler who sleeps on the waves.

I pick up the coconut, hold it to my chest
and taste anew the wanderer's sorrow.

As I watch the sun sink into the sea,
a stranger's tears come coursing down.

My thoughts drift over the eightfold tides—
when will I go back to my home again?