Bootprint on the Keep

The turret stood, a careful cone,

the moats were carved, a tiny throne.

Built with small hands, and hours to spare,

a temporary beauty, hung in air.

I saw it perfect, just past noon,

under a gentle, fading moon

of morning tide, then turned away.

It lasted just an hour, maybe less than a day.

Returned to find the ruin there,

a sharp heel mark, beyond repair.

The damp sand crumbled, pushed down low,

by someone careless, marching slow.

Just one print, deep and rough,

and all that careful building, not enough.