Almost it seems like play
This thrice-warming work
Except for the weight
And casual brutality of the axe
Rending ages of growth
To piles of resin-rich splinter
The tearing pop, inexplicable
Resistance of twisted grain
Almost it feels like work
But for the warmth to come.
Author: Duncan MacNae
Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees.
duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com
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