Brick by Brick

By Andrew R. Duckworth

I built this house, brick by brick,
Slabbed the cement and cut stone thick.
I had much help along the way
But it is mine, both the good and the nicks.

My mother and father laid foundation,
And there I stood, setting up frame,
Discovering everything I could,
Insisting that it not be the same
As the next house over or down the street,
Trying to construct it as I should,
Proofing it from degradation,
As only the reasonable would.

I built this house, brick by brick,
Careful not to rush, not to be too quick.
This house of stone was once built weak,
But I’ve moved on from mud and stick.

I painted murals on the walls
That express my thoughts and dreams.
They fill the rooms and the halls,
But not all is what it seems.
The murals sometimes get worn out
And a new mural takes its place,
But behind the dry wall, stone stands stout,
Stone that cannot be replaced.

I built this house, brick by brick,
And while others guided my hand,
I’ve made sure that my walls can stand
Brick by brick.