Uncertain Truth and Beauty

At the beach the boy took his post. His shovel no toy.
He brandished a real tool to stem the tide.
As the enemy waves rolled in, to his joy
They collapsed as his vorpal blade plied
The sand and his foe vanished again
And again. My observation of this youth's
Triumph amid the breaking waves stoic Zen
Mastery of shells to sand proves Keats: Truth's
Beauty all right. I wish Heisenberg were here
To witness the Ocean's Windmill and the Boy's Quixote. 

Alas we are the ones altering the experiment. Near
The knight we are saved through no credit

of our own. Yet we are thankful for the witnessed present

and for those with us and yet now absent.