Blog Posted:8/18/2013 8:51:00 AM
Not writing much right now, just enjoying summer travels and my hobbies. I started a couple of poems which I might post soon. I thought about writing a poem about those old-timers from my youth who used to sit around the courthouse square, tell stories, and whittle. I did a bit of research and came across this poem, which I think kind of tells most of what I wanted to say anyway, and likely does a better job of it. I'm still considering writing one, but I'm a little deflated now in view of this fine one.
"The Whittler" by Charmaine Lanham
The Whittler sat in the old courthouse square
Carving some cedar in a red rocking chair
What are you making, old friend of mine?
He smiled and told me, “I’m Making Time”
I’m “Making Time” in my old age
My life’s work is over, I’ve made my own way
With a knife and some wood there’s little to say
I’ll whittle away the rest of my days
All of my memories are of times that are gone
When I sat round the table with my wife and my sons
The long days of work with the crops in the fields
The chores getting done in time for a meal
You are a young man, your future’s ahead
While I am an old man, waiting for rest
My children are scattered, my farm has been sold
And my dear wife, my one love, is a memory I hold
The whittler walked from the old courthouse square
In the fading grey dusk, with wind in white hair
At my feet were his shavings of cedar so fine
What are you making?
I’m Making Time