The world at once is almost slow again,
And I can make a lullaby of windswept rain,
And thus begin to dream of home and then...
In truth depart from all these gorgeous spires.

Erratic strides to the own end,
Stop-starting down the weary roads,
The path draws quick but slowly
Trails a touch further than the time,
Tomorrow will be spent but through!

A slowly day,
A day less travelled,
A meandering rooted to the spot,
A wooden seat and strangely creak,
A looking to the window side,
A windy gust that splays the green,
A thrashing dance of hedgerows lean,
A slowly look into the fray,
A slowly look upon the patter in the rain.

A clacking tactile snap resounds,
And wooden bricks are stacked on high,
And laughter guides these leaning towers.

A little tap wacks at the loose-looking blocks,
All to find a delightful tug,
That leaves the tower toppling not.

Praise God for joyous, blood-tied delight,
With placed people to share good game,
And to hear of hard days and light stories too.