Early one spring morning, while the lawn was still covered with dew,
I awoke from a deep and restful slumber to start the day anew.
Perched on the rooftop, fresh Owens Corning Shingles, ready to install,
Very odd indeed, looking so layered, so tall.
One by one out of their bundles, precisely they lay,
Not one turn, not one tumble, almost like play.
Non-stop they cover this place, such a fast pace,
On again, on again, vibrations in time,
Hypnotic rhythms, a hypnotic rhyme.
Hunger and a grumble, a smile, no time,
An appetite can mumble to satisfy lunchtime.
Oh my! A loud tummy in need,
It’s break-time indeed for the roofing machine.
Time to feed—then rise once more,
With bread in hand, the roof to restore,
A house now whole beneath the sun’s gleam,
Built by sweat, shingles, and a well-fed dream.
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