They sit on the white sands of tropical beaches

Near a large collection made up of ivory sea shells

Waves increasing in size not close enough to drown the men

Who are relaxing beneath the low hanging, setting sun

Counting from the chest all their acquired gold coins

Around the crackling fire they sit drenched to the bone

The winds are a bit relentless as the night starts to show

But due to the weather none will get the deadly cold

~Gypsy