Oh hole, oh hole, where art thou
Our brown canvas lies bare, waiting for you, like the trees waiting for their summer foliage
Our hearts remain empty without thee
Waiting...wishing...desiring for our days to become complete in your company.
Others have found their holes
Like young fawns uniting with their mothers out of the womb
We wait for your presence in our life and to fill you with finest slabs of concrete
To complete you with santa celia granite, saddle brook floors, and soap dish-less showers
For you shall provide the foundation of our daily lives for years to come.
Oh hole....Oh hole