It is not 'Great' this wall
Yet not in cousin China's mighty thrall.
Nor in its place or history can it list
Where, Pyramus fair Thisbee almost kissed.

It might not fill the eye, or swell the heart
And may not be construed as 'work of art'.
Nor, in our estimation, can it prize
Hadrian's construct as its match in size.

But look within its stones, within each block
Wherein the moss and lichen interlock
With strands of feeling from the hands that fought
To tame these rocks, with work and sweat and thought.

See there, an angry cut and here a sigh
That caused the heart creating it, to cry.
And here between these crevasses we see
A smile, a cut of stone, wrought happily.

Each piece of limestone puzzle is imbued
With souls of local men and women true.
Each builder's name is writ in words of stone
And read by nature's knowing eyes, alone.

For love they left their heritage sublime
Whose structure will outlast us all, in time.
We pray that those who follow us will mind
To leave this wall and place, just as they find.