Heard today how even as children
they often longed for a town,
built towers along a muddy path
from what was strewn in yards, on ditch banks.
Not one had thought of grimy then,
of vastness all-too-grey in which
we lost tracks, walls
in which no hand yet cleared a view.
No one had yet pressed austere creases
into fronts of commercial leases.
All was still made of water and sand.
So low was the land that dreams
must reach high, the horizon had emptied away –
they stood and watched till the start of their day.