Wood We Ply

Plies pressed together
Under pressure and high heat
Creating plywood

The first on the job
But the last to get credit
We know this too well

Present at the start
The backbone of construction
Absent from the end

Considered less than
Too homely to be exposed
Yet necessary

Then white covers it
The weight and scars it retains
To be forgotten

This sounds familiar
Parallels hard to ignore
A story too real

When finally seen
Its knots unique and complex
It shows its true worth

Like the plies once pressed
Together we are stronger
Owning what we built