sorenbarrett

What we are left

A cabin sound, made of wood
An oak floor, time withstood
First an ax then the saw
Chisel, sandpaper, nail, hammer of claw
Each tree a life, a memory felled
Where ancient settlers dwelled
Each generation leaves their mark
A ladder of wooden words climbing out of past\'s dark
A palace formed of suffering sweat
A gift to the ungrateful they did beget