Sep 142011
 
Golden houses gather at the sea's demesne,
Crowded to dare the weather and the wave,
To raise childish laughter in the rocky spray
Despite what moneyed worldlings crave:
Sunrise caught in the gilt of nouvaux riche fences,
Exiled faces shut from the sea that shaped their clay.

These sea-battered, sea-stung houses, strong,
Rooted long years on a battened coast,
Creak, and crack, in the wind's stir shaken, broken
Till hurricane pane and slatted roof rise in song,
Hurling hung cries above the developer's boast:
"God grants great strength to the hand that takes."


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