Adams Avenue Art – Scupture & Carvings

Let no-one clep this mansion a museum
Of antique furniture and portraiture,
A house of tapestries of threadbare deeds
Committed for their incommodious lair.
I claim it is a fabric woven from
The gilt and silvered silk we sometimes spin
And daily marvel at, of beams of mind
A little jutting in this mortared world.
Technology is substance of these rooms
As only perishes in mental fires
Of ever subtler retempering
Until the world is ornament to thought;
If flames outsinge or spires command these arts,
Set free their smoke as birds a-flickering.