In this ramshackled
Tumbledown wreck of a home,
The sun yet shines bright through
Black, brok'n windows
Cracks in the floor, hard won by persistence have
Giv'n way to soft carpet
Of green
High up in one corner, of what
Once was a kitchen
A nest, from which
Boisterous demands are made
And surrendered to, with
Patience and love, while there
Hangs in another,
A hive, hard at work—
An entire civilisation
Buzzing with creation.
In this blight on the neighbourhood,
This blemish of decay, there is
Beauty, stillborn, everyday.
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