With Nothing More Than Sand Poem by Margaret A. Brennan

I watched him work so feverishly
Digging up the sand.
Imagination was his ruler;
It had only to command.

The hole he dug was three feet deep
With sand hills piled around.
He shaped a little "sand" seat
In the wall just off the ground.

Next he took the tapered pail
And filled it to the brim.
Then with a swinging motion,
He pounded out the rim.

With sea shells now around the base
And a banner on the top,
He scraped the sand to form a door,
And said: "At last, I'll stop!"

Then as a last decision
With the shovel in his hand
He carved his name for all to see
On his castle in the sand.