The Ever Winding Wall

I have given up counting sheep
Instead, I count the stones in the
Granite wall, all hand built by

Men and boys, boys and men all
Toiling in weather I can only imagine
Hands as cold as a North pole trek

Backs breaking, brows sweating
Living a life I secretly admire
Strong arms, focused concentration

On the tiny pebbles, grey unappealing
But maintaining a way of life
A life some would never give up

Each generation learning that secret
Skill, to keep animals in and enemies out
Till finally, those same granite stones cover

Their weather torn, but proud bodies
As they lay in a well earned sleep
Lain by the next pair of strong hands.