Boy with an Axe
A
RED-CHEEKED boy with a red scarf
blowing,
And an axe with its silvery blade as sharp
As the winter wind in its heady going,
And through the bare branches a twanging harp
Strums on its taut-stretched strings a-singing
Telling of winter and its wild joy—
Above him, three black crows are winging,
Alarmed by the tread of a tramping boy.
Out at last to the sunny clearing,
And now an axe’s echoing sound
Calling to all who would be hearing
That soon a tree would fall to the ground.
A boy’s hard muscles—an axe’s bite—
And the woods with a little more space and light.
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