He is the bearded man,
Made of myth and legend.
With tools of ax and saw and brawn,
He labors the reverse of dusk to dawn.
Without a complaint, in the morning he wakes,
And in manly silence eats his stack of pancakes.
Trees are his livelihood, and his paradox.
A friend, yet an adversary that must be felled.
His world is bound by logs and lumber,
And yet the world does not stop to wonder
Where all that wood comes from.
And so he toils on, unrecognized.
He is the embodiment of a pure man,
Far supreme are his height and strength.
More than mere mortal, his wardrobe is best:
Boots, stocking cap, jeans, and red flannel are better than the rest.
He snacks upon beef jerky and bacon,
And bellows with a deep voice.
Never discouraged and never to be stopped,
His wooded obligation is his choice.
He works alone in the forest,
And as the last of his kind, he stands tall.
In a close contest, he beats out pirates
As the manliest of them all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.