I would love to walk with you,  

Barefoot on the beach,  

Leaving footprints in the wet sand.    

Come to the seaside this summer;   

The waves will wash up seashells and driftwood.     

And the gulls will fly in busy circles,   

Pretending they have important work to do.    

Later, we’ll collect pretty rocks  

That fell off the hillside.       

If you do not come, these do not matter.  

If you do come, these do not matter.  

-Adapted by Tom Z from a poem by Rumi