A Wooden Riddle
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A Wooden Riddle
I walk through walls,
but I'm not dead.
(as they are unfinished)
I try to keep the plans,
locked in my head.
From the morning I wake up,
until the time I hit the bed.
Sheetrock,
green board,
sand block
whitewash!
A new life...
for a young man
following his God,
the "true carpenter".
Speed square all's fair,
math done in pencil.
Left on the wall,
before painting.
The magic of building,
with hands guided;
can not be anything,
less than >
art.
Copyright © Ann Foster | Year Posted 2020
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