Brick by Brick
Our little town was built
By clay and bricks mined
From men like my great-
Grandfathers who wore
Their fingers to the bone
They thrived for years
Until the need for fire
Brick was no longer a
Necessity as it once was
One by one the furnaces
And brickyards closed
Buildings left to rot and
Return again to nature
The past of this place is
Long forgotten, except
For the few of us who
Know that this place
Was built literally
Brick by brick
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LOVE this poem about how the technology has changed. Made me think of my grandfather who laid the bricks of his house. Especially love how the brickyard building returns to nature, the source of the material from which bricks were made. the metaphor seems to grow and grow