Conservation Poem by Robert Melliard

This big old house, with cracked adobe walls,
sagging beams, and mouldy wooden floors
might well be classed a ruin back in England.

For several weeks each year, we toil
to keep the place alive - though nature
is against us, with insects, rot and fungi.

Despite the work,
we're happy while we're here.
These rooms have character, hold memories -
untouched by recent paint and paper.

The garden, reclaimed from winter growth,
reveals the charm of its maturity.
Thick, ancient shrubs bloom brightly.

Homes like this make work worthwhile,
for as long as they (or we) survive.