"Too tall," he skips along the barbed wire fence,
cheerfully falling out of his mud boots,
scanning the field for one that isn't bent,
twisted, bare, brown, withered, hunched, or knotted.
"There it is!" he exclaims, pointing, sprinting
towards the perfect cedar, branches soaring,
6 feet of needles, thick trunk cemented.
Trembling with ardor, he began swinging.
He chopped and sawed and flung his axe,
til Dad stepped in, with one vigorous swoop,
and fell the tree, trunk leaning on the fence.
"Time to drag it back," he said, and grabbed it,
handing off the heavy axe to the boy
who could hardly wait to share the story.
1 comment:
I object to the label on this one! not lame!
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