Best friends walk along the sea,
If they continue long enough, they will arrive at the start.
But can they make it? For it has been 11 days since their arrival,
And none know how they ended up on such vacant land,
With trees as the iris, a mysterious chest its pupil.

Oh, they shall make it.
Such vacant land is no match,
For they are true and humble in their abilities.

Arms raised, her brown spiraling hair, messy and mobile,
Indicative of the gusts she brings forth to the coconut tree,
And they all run over, collecting those that fell into small piles,
Cracking them on knees and rocks, gulping its sweet water.

It is not enough, and they walk to the sea with their coconut halves,
Filling them with salty water, placing them on the ground all together as one,
So she, with the short, blonde hair that sparkles like champagne glasses,
Can dance around the bowls of life giving juice, making it pure and clean,
And they drink and drink until smiles cross their faces.

They walk on until hunger is too much,
And he, with the dark skin like leather takes to the forest,
Bringing back berries and a rabbit to roast.
And he, with hair like orange embers, blows and brings fire to life,
Where they all crouch with their drooling mouths,
Until they devour the succulent meat like animals.

They complete their circle,
Feeling comfortable with their perimeter,
And to the forest they go and go until they reach that pupil,
Gasping at the stone chest before them,
And they all try to open it, one at a time, for there must be magic inside,
But they fail.

Until they all try together,
She gusts,
She dances,
He watches and listens,
He blows,
And the top slowly opens.