Jeryd Gordon Poet Lyric

The Woodsmans Pause

Shall I go and hew a tree,
in all its splendour, finery?
Shall I lay low what stands so high,
its yearning branches seeking sky?

Shall I take blade to trunk, axe to stem,
with mighty blows come to condemn?
Shall gnarled old yew or lofty ash
Be hurled to earth with wrathful crash?

Shall golden leaf’s bright hue then fade,
and drift to ground like windswept rain?
Mark me not monster, nor hateful man -
I may need warmth for frosty hands.

I may need hearth and home made strong,
a wagon, plow, or means of song.
So one day I might, if need arise,
bring a great tree to its demise.

But the sun shines warm, the day is light,
no living thing need die this night.
So I’ll bend low my weary knees,
and rest my back beneath these trees.

I’ll feel the breeze, breathe pine-sweet air,
and dwell on things still bright and fair.
I’ll rest in shade, flee summer’s heat,
and dream of bygone days - some bitter, some sweet.

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