Reay Jespersen

Grayson the mason
was a trade master.
None could build bigger,
And none could build faster.

With mortar and cinder
he built up his wall;
the second of four,
then he would have all.

He sweat as he toiled
all through the hot night.
He would keep working
’til it was done right.

As dawn pinked the sky
he cracked a wide grin.
By noon that same day
he could pack it all in.

Another job done,
he stood back with pride.
His work gave him strength,
a good feeling inside.

Time to go home,
he caught the next bus.
He’d make it in time,
so no need to fuss.

He grabbed his packed bag,
bought a plane ticket south;
a small island he’d heard of,
just through word of mouth.

The plane took to air
and he started to smile.
Though a fast leave, he knew
he’d be gone for a while.

He sat on the beach
with a tropical drink,
looking out at the ocean,
indulging a think.

Grayson was liked by
all folks far and wide.
What was the reason
he was trying to hide?

The thing was that Grayson,
the jovial man,
had done his last job
as part of a plan.

The walls were the finest
that he’d ever done.
But in truth they were needed
to ensconce his fun.

The likable mason
had a side that was naughty.
And it would be decades
’til they chipped out the body.