Loving in Truth

Someone will push the house over one day, Some spacedozer give it a shove, But the cobbles we laid down here in the yard, These are a labour of love. All winter we set these cobbles in place, Or was it the summer as well? Sorting through lumpy bluestone pitchers For ones that looked suitable. The old house decayed – along with us – Will a strange new resident Admire the patio made in joy Wondering what we meant? Things fall apart, the poet wrote, Certainties crumble and move But the cobbles oddly plotted together, These are our labour of love.