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Friday, November 5, 2010

Cutting Firewood

Chop, chop, chop, One day I'll find
Rang out every day. That continuous handle stack.
Chop, chop, chop, They will disappear
It's not a woodpecker at play. Then there will be nothing more to whack.

Chop, chop, chop, I rode my bike,
The axe does fly. Lobbied by the waterhole.
Chop, chop, chop, Winter breezed in
The wood pile grows high. The weather turned cold.

Chop, chop, chop, Stove burned day and night
Oh, my back does ache. To keep the house warm.
Chop, chop, chop, I would have to return to the heap,
Time I took a break. Believe me I was torn.

Chop, chop, chop, So I braved the chilly wind,
Some more chips do fly. To chop, chop, chop,
Chop, chop, chop, The noise rang in my ears,
The sun is sinking in the sky. Warmed up, I chopped and chopped.

Chop, the ax stuck. Sweat trickled beneath my jumper,
I breathe a sigh of relief, Chop, chop, chop,
Time to go inside As I prayed for summer,
Before I come to grief. Chop, chop, chop.

The wood pile grew high
With each passing day.
Please find some hardwood
I would pray.

Then I wouldn't have to chop,
If the blocks were too hard,
My father would have to take his turn,
That would be my trump card.

I would be able to rest
Beneath the shade of the tree,
Rest my hands, my aching back,
Wait for mum to call me for tea.

Many a handle broke,
But there was always a spare.
I rub the sweat from my face,
No rest for me, I do declare.

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