Bricks

When we were young,
we build our bricks
as solid as we can.
As one may crumble
we build another to replace,
and so it goes on,
until we are too old and tired
to build bricks anymore.
Then when they crumble,
our lives turn to dust,
ready to be blown away,
by the first strong wind,
to pass our way.

poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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