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Poem: March eighth


strike here, like this
hand closed firmly tight
arm raised up full height
feel the weight in hand
swinging freely as it lands
strength flowing in the swing
metal on metal hear the ping

the nail is not the aim
it is down into the beam
where the hammer drives
one – two – three tries
carpentry is mind and muscle
sweat and grime and hustle

measured trigonometry
mathematical geometry
taking raw wood, clay and steel
shaping chaos into something real

gentle homes are built by rough hands.

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