The bricks lay,
In an open pile.
This made a
Particular man smile.
He knew he was
The artist, the sculptor.
He had a knack in him,
That would make him,
The greatest worker.
He didn't understand,
Why he looked at walls so.
Why he saw the bricks flow,
Into gigantic walls.
One day he scooped up,
One thousand bricks,
And made a wall as tall as
He wove this wall through,
And told people,
'A bricklayer has to lay bricks,
To turn them into walls.'
Vera Sidhwa's Other Poems
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