There is a castle with walls of sand, ever-shifting,
Always baking beneath the hot sun;
Heaped high by the wind’s dry lashings.
The walls are stout and sturdy,
But only when the wind shapes them,
And the sun stares harshly upon them,
Only then do the walls keep the wind out,
Only then do they provide a shady retreat.
The day comes when the sun grows dim and distant,
And the winds meekly murmur in protest.
The walls crash down,
And all scatters back to sand.