Sand Castles

Turrets upleap and aspire,
Battlements rise
Sweeping the sea with their fire,
Storming the skies.
Pile that a monarch might own,
Mightily plann’d!
I can’t sit here on a throne,
This is too grand.
Build me a cottage of sand
Up on the hill;
Snug in a cleft it must stand
Sunny and still.
Plant it with ragwort and ling,
Bramble and bine:
Castles I’ll leave to the King,
This shall be mine.
Storm-clouds drive over the land,
High flies the spray;
Gone are our houses of sand,
Vanished away!
Look at the damage you’ve done,
Sea-wave and rain!
—“Nay, we but give you your fun
Over again.”

W. Graham Robertson.