Grace and Peace to you.
Along Main and Pleasant and Spring,
shoulder to shoulder through town
stand all these red brick buildings.
Brick by brick, a city is made.
Each brick was laid by hand,
with a trowel and a string, and an eye
for straight lines and plumb edges.
All of the walls, the straight ones,
the worn, painted ones,
the old and crumbling, leaning ones
are pages of an old book.
The arched windows,
the palladian windows,
the columns and corbels,
pediments and pilasters set in
at the rousing turn of the last century
by men in overalls and cardigans,
intent on creating a beautiful wall
and a fine city, are not like modern windows.
They say something.
Everything in this world,
every tangle of undergrowth,
every rumpled cloud,
every troubled tribe,
every sorry excuse for a soul
was laid by hand.
Copyright © Steve Garnaas-Holmes