Who will ever know?

I no longer stand on a beach by the Australian sea but the waves will keep on
breaking and rolling towards the white, white sand.
And, the sound of almost thunder, wil make the rocks jump and switch places
throughout eternity.
When I die, a silverstring of smooth pearls is going to break.
The pearls will roll through the land and run home to all the mussle-mothers
on the bottom of the the sea.
Who will dive and find my pearls? Who will ever guess they were mine?
Who will ever know that the whole world used to hang around my neck?