The children on the floor

In corduroy and green

Tumble the blocks one more

To try what laws mean.

I learned all that last year.

Or was it so long ago

The three boys playing here

Forget what I know?

One of the men is mine

And two my brother's sons.

They work, shout, shine,

As he and I did once.

But build too tall too fast,

And none of them sees how

It can only fall and waste.

They want it now, now.

They work with all the lack,

The love, and the length

Of what we have them back

From what we got for strength.

They use our shape of the head,

Our hands for grip and grace,

And what we built and bred,

The face, the family face.