Wood-Chopping Sonnet Poem by David Welch

Grab up some pine I cut up last weekend,
back creaks as I put it up on the block,
splitting maul flashes, in an arc descends,
sinks deep in the wood with a meaty THWOCK.
Logs splinter off, tumble across brown grass,
coated in saw-dust from the chainsaw's blade,
small bits for kindling, they catch flame fast,
mix with bacon grease, fire-starters made.
Rack up the big stuff in a woody wall,
looks like a redoubt from the frontier days,
it seems like a lot, but we'll burn it all,
when the snow comes here, it does come to stay.
Clean out the camp stove before frost sets deep,
nothing feels warmer than wood-fired heat.