The grain of sand sits on the beach, the oyster shell seems out of reach, a gust of wind is all it needs, to start a process come and see, a slow commotion starts to brew, a gust of wind is coming through, it sweeps across the soft terrain, and picks up the hopeful little grain, it places it inside a shell, a process starts it starts to swell, and time she starts her ticking clock, the grain of sand was once a rock, and now its edges start to curl, with time the sand becomes a pearl.