Against the West Long Branch Redistribution

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."