Your basic builder
Belt and braces
Big black boots
With thick black laces
All in denim
They bend down
A flash of flesh
Old ladies frown
A concrete mixer
Orange turning
Scraps of timber
Bonfire burning
Stacks of bricks
Some are breeze
All smoke fags
They all wheeze
Days half gone
They ask for sub
Now all the builders
Fill the pub
© 2008 David Threadgold
Rambling Riddles & Rhymes
you are too gracious too often they are a motley lot, theyre not wholely to blame exploited, by their managers and real estate contrivers short changing cutting corners you get a by product not worthy of a mason or journey man artisans have disappeared, cheers Shimon
Great Poem! If you need anymore bricks I have got some in one of my poems, 'Bricks in my wagon.' 10!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Good work with words Interesting to read