Tool

It has a dull serene rose glow

where it fits the hand,

old beech 

sports a timid smile, and 

knows its own worth,

in the right hands, of course. 

There’s damage, some,

here and there a nick or two

some wrought through error, some

by angry malice,

a good workman never blames etc.

But once in the palm, balance felt

it whispers like a sage,

measure twice, cut once boy

is it true lad? 

trust your eye.

don’t fight the grain.

*

© Graham Sherwood 04/2019