To watch this homestead getting high!
Like weeds, the building grows in heat
Roof rafters now seen from the street.
Piled sacks of gravel bide their time;
The concrete mixer starts to whine
A buzzing saw completes the band
A concerto I don't understand ...
A wooden gable, Gothic style,
Is now in place, but not a tile
Has yet been carefully laid aloft
Still open-to-four-winds this croft.
The skip is back! It's nearly filled
The Polish team of workers drilled
To cart all débris down the slope
And keep things tidy ... so we hope!
Black tarpaulin flops on walls
As progress at the weekend stalls
The trucks are gone, the road is clear
But silence won't last long, I fear!
(c) Poet in the woods 2019
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