deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Garden Path
The garden path took years to lay ,using discarded bricks and quarry tiles and builders' rubble,nothing ever wasted a thing of beauty like the patch-work quilts which kept us warm on winter nights; each day it grew a little longer ,from the back door to the cold frame and its tomato plants made of bits of wood which could be spared from the kitchen fire.
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 filled 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
mosaics to rival Rome,
dry feet to hang the washing.
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 filled 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
mosaics to rival Rome,
dry feet to hang the washing.
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