Page 33 - Wealden Celebrant Poetry Collection By Michael Gosden

Extracts from some of my own work
Written using detail from families who wanted something a little
different.

‘The Builder’
He worked with his hands, worn and weathered,
From years of toil and labour,
His trade was that of a brickkie,
Building was his favour.
Taking time to unwind,
Playing snooker or cards,
It’s only right,
When you’ve worked so hard.
Through decades, countless bricks
Have passed through this man’s hand,
His needs were simple, a fag, a trowel,
Some cement, and some sand.
Working his craft, creating homes for many to enjoy,
With care and dedication, ever since he was a boy,
The trowel is now still, the mixer is silent,
No more building will he endeavour,
Yet his work will stand the test of time,
And his memory will last forever.

‘It’s Nature’

All nature has a lifespan, even woods, fields, and brook’s
In silence they speak happiness beyond the reach of books.

An ageing tree will eventually fall and make way for tender shoots,
Their journey in the cycle of life as they then set down roots.

New growth begins on the forest floor – it’s always been this way,
And sun and moon shall still abide, and with them night and day.