The Wood Cutter - Poem by Mark Heathcote
In the blackest dungeon forest, in the deepest dark
There in; lies a post-hold position, in yours and gods heart
Where in; he builds a lowly wood cutter habitation,
Each log there in; a year, each door or window a decade
Of unerring ecology: It’s here the beast are given a deputation,
It’s here all the beasts nefarious gather to be stockade.
With boring gimlet burning eyes do they all impeach?
And rebuff, in gainsay, deputize a heathen to preach
But god like the numeral midge whispers in the interim to each!
His words like resin rise and elucidate both heart and mind
And yet again it is he elected the wood cutter of humankind.
Comments about The Wood Cutter by Mark Heathcote
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.