Critics

Wrote a poem on the sand,

Wonder how it fares if left alone,

Will it bear on its own merits

Or juxtapose by meddling hands,

Meantime, sundries it again,

Wind shifts it broad and thin,

Indelible puddles left by rain,

Sand critters pop out and in,

A boy and his ball rolls along,

With a long sigh, looks on down,

Builds a sandcastle then leaves,

Ebbtide gone, flood tide flows cleanly,

I returned, stood and discern,

Comme ci, comme ca, c'est la vie.