Lumber Log Sonnet Poem by C.D. Sinex

Logs in the river will float to the mill.
Once tall proud timbers adrift to their fate.
Sawyers are sleeping; their saws are all still.
At morning's first light, they'll open the gate.

Saws will be screaming; the logs won't fight back.
Their bark will be stripped; they'll sit naked, cold.
All halved and quartered and left in a stack.
Cut into lumber, and never grow old.

Off to be houses that sit by some moor.
So far from the woods, so far from their own.
Fitted with windows, and holes closed by doors.
To give warmth, shelter, and be someone's home.

The children in bed, as they try to sleep
will sometimes be startled by moans and creaks.

© C.D Sinex