We built St. Paul’s, Stonehenge, the pyramids,
Vain human ambitions to graze the sky,
To act as a microphone for the gods,
To ensure something of us would not die.
Yours is the example that I’ll reflect,
Maker, small builder of the local kind,
Simple, tireless domestic architect,
You build your home from whatever you find.
Just as artists burn in creative fire,
You weave and stitch this basket for your eggs,
With grasses, lichen, sheep’s wool from the wire,
And a bivouac of well-chosen twigs.
I learn from you in your temporary art,
Pluck the scraps for these stories from my heart.
James Nash 2014
with special thanks to writer Steph Shields for the gift of the nest...I hope I did it justice.