The problem with sand is there's not enough of the stuff,
Whether gritty and rough or silky soft like a cream puff,
Baked warm by sun's love or cold and tough under lunar rebuff,
I'm verily chuffed when I see that fine fluff,
Duned up higher than that scruffy, scuffed Mysian bluff.

Off the cuff, the problem with sand? It gets so much hate,
From a slate of irate, incensed reprobates,
Who only build gates on Igneous substrate,
Forgetting sand's traits turn rough ground to a clean slate,
Pressed flat, it's any magistrate's foundation for works great,
If unsteady, compress with more weight, I restate,
More Weight.
More Weight.
MORE WEIGHT!

There's no debate, fill me with sand all soft and warm,
A swarm of fine grains squirm down to places unsworn,
Rearmed in sands terms, I stand firm, free of harm.

Stalwart soil to build your cathedrals on.
Unshakable ground to layer your blessing on.

And if I 'come shakey, if my form starts to break,
Compress me back down with
More Weight
More weight
more weight

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Mayan, in the year 979 AF.