The Carpenter Poem by nicola burkett

He whistles to the melody of the song
As he works away in his shead
Sawdust covers the floor
Upon where he treads
Whistling to an old familiar tune
Sanding down the fine maple oak
A sudden gush of dust
That makes the carpenter choake
The box adorned with the finest of silks
Chrimsson red rose satin
He carves out words of love
spelt out in acient latin
He whistles away
As his hands carve the bed
The final piece
As we bury our dead