The Dell
The first of my kind.
Grey cement dust, and broken rubble.
The fractured land, fused into a dwelling
Of concrete.
A home for the quiet father of evolution
To live out his days.
A concrete plan.
But it did not happen.
Death, disappointment, replacement,
The cold north wind
Drove him from this place.
Nothing is concrete, nothing but me.
A stone statue of Mary, Mother of God,
Stood in my garden.
I was a convent, a concrete convent.
Quiet prayers of the Sacred Hearts supported me a while.
Now I am private, hidden, but my quiet story remains
mixed into my concrete, until I return to dust.
From stories told at Grays Yacht Club, research by the Kinetika Team, and writing by students of Grays Convent High School
Grey cement dust, and broken rubble.
The fractured land, fused into a dwelling
Of concrete.
A home for the quiet father of evolution
To live out his days.
A concrete plan.
But it did not happen.
Death, disappointment, replacement,
The cold north wind
Drove him from this place.
Nothing is concrete, nothing but me.
A stone statue of Mary, Mother of God,
Stood in my garden.
I was a convent, a concrete convent.
Quiet prayers of the Sacred Hearts supported me a while.
Now I am private, hidden, but my quiet story remains
mixed into my concrete, until I return to dust.
From stories told at Grays Yacht Club, research by the Kinetika Team, and writing by students of Grays Convent High School
