You will never know
How much your dreams we make
The scaffolding to
Your citadel.

How little we think you feel
Of our cameraderie
But truth be told our dreams are yours
Side by silent side
And when you so casually discard us
We take the hit
In sake, the holy bonds of architects.

Who can tell
How the citadel was built?
You in glory
We below.

And when you sit
Serenely in your spire
Take a thought
For those, as us, discarded
To be re-used again
For future dreams of yours.