It’s a popular movie. Destruction and pain
Are what we as The Builders create at the drop
Of a hat or a payload. We each play a part.
Walls of Time is our tapestry. It’s a rough start
That continues its struggle, not willing to stop
Until armies on both sides are totally slain.

Nonetheless, all who are here alive and breathing
Are directors and actors in all that takes place.
Whether judged good or evil, each role that is played
Builds a wall that grows stronger. The price to be paid
For being too professional is some disgrace
Yet the cameras won’t stop. They just keep on rolling.

As the butterfly’s wings beat, they have an effect
On everything occurring throughout time and space.
Big and small are our parts, but each is important
To the fabric historic. On this earth we can’t
Live without able structure to fill with our grace
Mixed with something which is much far less than perfect.

Longfellow was a Wadsworth, whatever that’s worth
To the dick headed scholars who nitpick meaning
Spewed by those gaining privilege by circumstance.
Playing fields are not equal. Some don’t get the chance
To perform as a Builder. They do their own thing
With the challenge of maintaining some sense of mirth.