Solstice

Now Earth’s tide’s at the fullest, and the Sun
Draws in her long-cast nets. Here is a trawl
Engrossing all that breathes. We are all spun
In that fine silk: creatures that squirm and crawl

Through putrid shallows, those that throng the deep
In eyeless silence, we whom they appal so.
Her nets are quite indifferent, catch and keep
The rest – and we, poor flotsam, also.