hV

So like the sand awaits the
crash of wave, so
I feel the oncoming judgement
for my father's acquisition.

Be Richard the frothy gavel and
I the receiving beach.
His ghostly tide will
wash 'way the sandcastle kingdom
my father hath built;

London will crumble
like so many wet grains,
and from my hands fall in clumps.

This water laps as the
Dauphin smiles- grinning,
a high grounded Gascon.