There it stands in the corner of my shed,
Grandpa’s axe.
Many are the days of joy I had with him
As he chopped logs to store
For the fire in winters cold time.
The stories he told to me,
As he swung the axe with such ease,
Took me to places of wonder,
To places where dreams would come true.
One day though the axe stopped swinging,
No more stories were told.
My Dad had Grandpa’s axe,
The blade was chipped and dull
So Dad bought a new blade.
Once more the axe swung
With renewed vigour and speed.
As I helped Dad with the tasks,
We spoke of Grandpa
With love and deep respect.
One day the handle on the axe split,
So dad bought a new handle,
Grandpa’s axe was restored.
Grandpa’s axe is now mine,
Three blades and two handles it has had.
It still sails through the air
In a wondrous way,
Chopping wood as it should.
So when I go into my shed,
Fond memories are stirred,
As there standing in the corner,
Is Grandpa’s axe.