Still trying to hold back time and tide which waits for no man,

Canute of Westminster smiles and clings to a palm of gold coins

presented by those with real power and with a vested interest.

The stones that grated under his feet, the shale, the battered million grains of sand

Are nothing but a memory in which money to be thrown is no object.

With regal boots, the King of Westminster waded into the fury and cried out,

“Why Neptune does thy take offence with the poor souls of this land?