The old man hunched over, slow to move,
Decided that this day, a honest day's labor,
Was just the ticket in order to have a day,
Productive and so lasting as the day was long.
He stretched and felt every muscle and bone,
Cry out to him in momentary pain and hurt,
But struggled, still, to dress himself alone,
In order to have a breakfast of eggs and toast.
The dinted coffee *** rattled on the stove,
The blinds were open to let in the light,
He put his breakfast on his plate of tin,
And commenced to eat in solitary fashion.
"Today's the day we build the wall,"
"You know, the one to keep the neighbor out,"
Because the neighbor was a persistant pest,
With constant hellos and meddling talk.
The old man bathed himself in silence,
Preferred to keep his thoughts secretly hidden,
Did not care for the company of idle fools,
Who didn't know what honest labor could do.
So, off to the work shed for his tools to begin,
The wall between the neighbor and him,
Walked to the place where walls are built,
Between the pastures of a neighboring farm.
The cold air felt like needles on his face,
The snow crunched repeatedly beneath his boots,
Wind hurtling gushs of shivering air,
With numbness in his toes he forged along.
Perhaps, a wall is something that builds itself,
Or maybe takes a long, long time to construct,
But determined in his quest for total privacy,
He must have felt a mission was his daily call.
"I'll build this wall, come hell and highwater,"
Despite the time of year being such a challenge,
Yet, when he knelt to gather his thoughts to begin,
He told himself tomorrow would be just as good.
Then, back he tredged to the house he had,
Where the fireplace roared and comfort awaited,
So, he could sip his tea and eat his evening meal,
While planning for tomorrow's daily labor.
