~ Transcription ~
To the house that was never built,
Had my eyes set fifty years to the morrow –
How the sun would dance on the front porch,
To the crooked treehouse in the backyard.
Cut the strongest of wood,
Called the bravest of men.
Seventeen weeks of drawing up plans,
set on canvas, set foot on the ground.
But I did not know the ground would shake.
How could I know the ground would shake?