Carved in Wood
S
HE sits upon my mantel carved in wood:
An aged peasant, caught within the grain
Of polished satin—all her hardihood
Subdued as is her laughter, grief, and pain.
Arrested by the artist’s moving blade,
And yet this carven block of wood is rife
With deep emotion that cannot be stayed
From spelling out her simple, toil-filled life.
Her idle hands seem moving at old tasks,
Her shoulders bend beneath their ancient load;
A roof, peat fire, plain food is all she asks·,
And a man to come at sunset down the road.
A woman, ageless, timeless, and with all
A woman’s yearning carved beneath her shawl.
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