Building

Masons sweating, gasping for air – sawing huge rocks in two.
Others – hammering, chiseling, drilling.
Dirt and dust up the wazoo.


Suddenly – a new face, a gentleman, stern-looking and dignified.
He calls to a nearby mason. "What are you doing, chap?"
The mason looks up petrified.


He scratches his head. What’s he after? The answer is pretty plain.
"Cutting a piece of stone, sir."
The gentleman nods, turns around, and then calls out again.


"What are YOU doing?" "Earning five shillings and two pence.
Life is harder than flint,
Colder than granite, there is hardly a need for pretense.”


A third man is hewing a rock. So fully immersed,
Oblivious to his surroundings,
He doesn’t even hear the question at first.


"What are YOU doing, friend?"  After a pause he replies,
"I am building a cathedral, sir."
His interlocutor turns, eyes swelling with tears, smiles.


Did that mason cherish his craft – despite backaches and bruises and falls?
Did he know he'd spoken to Sir Christopher Wren? Maybe not,
But he knew he was building St. Paul's.