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

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