As Trump prototype walls are assessed and my back garden wall remains work in progress, penned this little poem....

Brick by Brick

 I got some bricks, cement and sand

With water, trowel, a plotting line.

Thought of how to turn my hand

To leave a symbol of something fine.

 

I had my patch, could build so tall,

Keep to myself my piece of space.

I could build a monstrous wall,

Keep out those from another race.

 

A statue of myself in stone so strong

Would out last life, so all could see

How great I was, how never wrong

And looking up, they could see me.

 

A gravestone monument, set in stone

To mark the place my bones would lie

So I’d remain when I was gone,

A place to gather, grieve and cry.

 

The icy wind and freezing rain

Soaked the folk, in huddled door,

So with my trowel, I thought again,

A Shelter might relieve the poor.

 

Or maybe an oven to fill with wood

Might warm our hearts in every way

We could together bake more food

The hungry we could help today.

 

Mix the mortar, like a dough,

Add water, stir and mix with lime

But laying bricks, watch it grow,

And keep all level, all in line.

 

To build it strong, make it thick,

My hands so soft, my skills are poor

The pen’s my trowel and words my bricks

A poem or story suits me more.

 

So all my plans of bricks, this thinking

Seems not to fit my life at all

I only know the world needs linking,

And not another bloody wall.

x