With our empty buckets, our ready shovels,
we could choose to scoop the moist sand,
construct a castle, hollow a moat,
perhaps, given time, raise battlements.

A retinue of crabs could stand guard,
protect us from the angry surf,
until they are swept away or bribed
by promises of mild summer.

Our policies, benevolent though they were,
did not suffice to turn the tide.