Everyday there is a little less.
A little less consequence,
A little less shore.
A tired tyrant, an affront to a relentless sea.
Aghast at his cohorts,
They make friends of the waves
Joyously they swim and swirl through their deepest caves.
Yet down its long and crooked nose the tyrants gaze falls with ill favour upon the waves.
With a languid angst they trickle and sway,
They take a little more in a salted assault,
Day by day.
From sheer rock face, to grains of waste
All the tyrant can do is sit,
And wait.