The tree grows ring by ring
And year by year
It grows with purpourseful pride
No fault has it to fear
The rainfall may be more,or less,or less
But its reasoning remains put
And nor can it dictate the timberman
Only he has choice to cut
Blow, hack, crack by blow
He makes the wound
The chops sound up his arm
As the tree's growth is ruined
And later the blows sound his heart
As thoughts churn his skull like molten metal
The same great forces that tore the earth apart
Now clawing at the Lumberjack's cause
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I'm not really sure about the fourth line, it sounds a bit convoluted and awkward. but the poem is fine after that.
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Great piece. I liked the imagery you've penned here.
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