David Chadwick

A poem for the month - May

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Bricksticks

An assortment of artists, and us,

we make our way each year

to the rambling palace

on the hill south of the river.

 

Once this was a pile of broken bricks,

rotting timber, and old iron, overgrown

with weeds – spirit broken too,

disappearing slowly into the landscape,

melding back into the earth.

 

Just in time, you stumbled across it,

rebuilt it little by little.

A labour of love – working

board by board, brick by brick,

replacing, renewing, restoring,

breathing life back into the old ruin.