Chopping Wood When I was but a strapping lad, To my chores my pa would add A job, which we both understood, And highly sought, was chopping wood. To the woodpile, accompanied by My two-bladed axe by my side. With file in hand, the blade would be Honed and readied just for me. Selection of the log, I'd find, Depended upon my state of mind. Straight and clean; without a care. Full of knots; when burdens bear. My target, set upon the block, Held forth the axe, my eyes would lock Upon the place to sink the blade, Then knew the choice of log I�d made. My mind more clear with every blow. The day�s frustrations would soon let go. The challenge before me then, I'd know, To split a log, with one clean blow! All pieces stacked then, in a row, I'd vision the fireplace soon aglow To warm the hands and face of one Who chopped the wood, who�s work was done. Douglas Fletcher 4/20/2001 |
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