The Woodcutter

I shall take me an axe,
I shall sharpen and hone,
And at first light of dawn
To the woodland be gone.

I the wildwood will shave
With a hack and a crack,
From the might of my arm
The old forest will quake.

I shall pull my good saw,
To and fro, far and near,
I shall tear down the rot
Of the ages, the years.

Like an old man will crack
The sick grove of pine,
And only the young grove
To live will remain.

I shall pamper it well,
Like a child, watch and tend,
And in it the birds
Will sing without end.

The family of young trees
The bright sun will warm,
And life will flower free
From dawn to dawn.

Z. Biadula