A Bricklayer (poem by Lou Szymkow) He had a keen eye, a quick hand and a skill to work manually with strength and effort and will. His hard work inspired and was in demand, not just near home but across the land. He picked up bricks, mortar and trowel to craft barbies and walls, buildings and homes that last. An arch or a curve, all his work set apart, because each brick he placed was a work of art. His bricks though were not just forged in fire, His family were his foundation and his desire. The mortar was his love, his caring, his skill. He loved you all deeply and loves you all still.

I am I and you are you, whatever we were to each other that we still are. Speak to me in the easy way which you always used. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? Life means all that it ever meant, it is the same as it ever was.