Life cut short

Canadian Forest Industries, Nov/Dec 2003

Poetry is an unusual addition to CANADIAN FOREST INDUSTRIES MAGAZINE. To be honest, I like a clever turn of phrase, but have never been a big poetry fan. Still, it's not every day a logger puts in the effort to write a poem and send it in to us (if you don't think it's much of an effort, try it some time).

The following was sent in to us by the wife of a logger in Nova Scotia, although the logger poet is too shy to let us list his name. It's a different take on harvesting, and has a touch of twisted humour. Enjoy. I did. - Scott Jamieson, Editor

[Graph Not Transcribed]

Falling from a tree I spin,

in the moist green moss, I live within.

My heart starts pounding, then I sprout

Push my fingers deep in the ground

And stretch up towards the sunny crowns.

As I grow and claim my space

in this vast wilderness, I take my place.

How pleasant it is to be like me,

with all the birds, bees and scenery.

I lend my body to be a home

to little squirrels, they may freely roam.

Through my hair blows a gentle breeze,

with my life I am well pleased.

In the distance I now hear a rumbling roar

My neighbors within fill up with fear

What could it be as it draws near.

I am stumped.

- Logging Contractor in Nova Scotia