The sticky scent of fresh-cut pine
Has waited here for me.
I lose no time to make it mine
Beside the sawn-down tree.
The logger’s nowhere to be seen
So must have gone away.
The cut that’s left behind is clean;
Well, someone earned their pay!
I carry out such varied tasks,
But none do I do well.
If I were asked to make some masks,
I don’t think one would sell.
I’d like to think I knew my trade,
But then there’s each mistake I’ve made.
Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash
