The Garden Path

 Mixed bricks and slabs
laid in careful random
years collecting in the making
none discarded, each
a different story;
a builder changed a tile
his cart filling with rubble,
gravel from the road men
nothing wasted all of value
pieces in a puzzle,
none a perfect match
some forcing here and there.
not a penny spent or wasted
a mosaic to rival Rome,
dry feet to hang the washing.