The Old Man And The Pickaxe Poem by Sandra Martyres
The Old Man And The Pickaxe
He spent his life wielding his axe
In the hilly region of the Nilgiris
Cutting wood to pay for his food
And that of his growing brood
His home was the one place
Where a hungry child was assured of solace
The numbers kept growing as the word spread
About his generous heart and his tasty bread
Till one day when at the break of dawn
The woodcutter's pickaxe was not heard
The news spread like wild fire
And the villagers rushed in to enquire
To their consternation there lay before them
The tired old man lay slumped over his pickaxe
Although no more trees or wood would he fell
He left behind a beautiful tale for villagers to tell
Although no more trees or wood would he fell He left behind a beautiful tale for villagers to tell how beautiful these lines are! shan
that's a nice story you shared with us Sandra, , , liked your words.... hey but it is a bit of a sorry tale isn't it...nice 10++ regards shan
Another wonderful write from you Sandra...such lovely imagery...Fi 10+++
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/9/2024 1:35:21 PM # 1.0.0.1119
I love tales like this one; particularly when the language is so original and empathic.