Craft

In your grove of special trees
Poplar, lean and tender, Beech
So strong on Elephant legs
And dear to my purpose
Fir grown a hundred foot
Straight up as truth, dead
Two years - Now you hand me
The double headed axe, so sharp
It can whisper the hair from your cheek
And its haft of Olive wood with the smell
Of home, hearth, bed and Penelope

I cut in the rhythm of my swing
When I pause there are twenty logs at my feet
And you there with Adze and Auger saying
        Build it, build it, build it!
Build the craft of your spirit
Go run on the broad back of the sea
Run away from me and immortality
For you seek the spark of your mortality
I set you free - go now - I set you free.