I wrote this little poem in a minute while listening to a man talk about how bygone builders approached the architecture of angels. He spoke of how they built grand spires and sacred spaces with an expansive imagination for the ages. He challenged us to consider what we were building. Would it last? I thought, I am only telling stories to children. And this came out. It will have to serve for now as the best articulation of my ambition.
A Cathedral of Words
I cannot, I think, build a great building of any kind,
To last a thousand years.
Not with these hands.
So I will try, in my own way,
To make something that lasts a while.
I will try, I think,
To build a cathedral of words.
But that is too grand.
A cottage is more likely, with washing on the line.
A little home.
A warm fire.
A cottage of words.
May it last a little while and lend light to a few tired travelers, moving through whatever darkness,
This industrious world manufactures for them.
A cathedral of words? Perhaps that’s too grand a spire.
But I, bold as a mouse,
So I will build what I can,
And let my children, when they are grey,
Say what it was.