This music of old weary men
Was never truly so.
And one could hardly pen
Such joyous melodies as those.
For masters did such little boys become
And loved the music of their joys and woes.

This roaming island undefiled,
By tar's descent like fouling blood,
Incessant from a brewing sky,
Now meet the stubborn fissure there,
White knuckles on the metal beam,
Hold up the man within great falls.

A fuller house makes merry hearts abundant,
It fills the air with chatter and in gaps a smile,
The friendly catching up turns quick to jokes,
Preceding laughs which fade to jovial silence.

Roasting in the sun with Dad,
Along the heaped up concrete so,
Atop the sprawling brickwork so,
Aside the neat cube hedges tall,
Our legs don't haste like prior days,
But walk half fast,
But walk half slow,
And meet in middle heel to toe,
And roast in Summer rays,
For lunchtime walks do friendships grow.