Every day I try to earn my death. I sit by the river with sieve, sifting for gold.
When I fill my clothes with gold, when I am king, then I can throw it back
into the depths of the lake and barter my life.
I sift here because I believe in the mountain of gold that rises briefly only once or twice a millenium. To see it, one must concentrate on ripples on the surface of the lake.
The mountain can rise and fall in the blink of an eye.
And then you must live another thousand years.