Measure me one chord of wood
That once had topped the tallest tree,
That once high in the forest stood
And no horizon could not see.
I could burn some wood for heat
When life and love had smoldered cold,
But then in ashes, most complete,
Would be the life it used to hold,
Or build a table, stool or chair
To elevate my upheld life,
Or maybe I could build a stair,
Or carve a flute, guitar, or fife.
A sculpture then, I'd next engrave
And shape with blade my mind's relief,
Then build a barrel for my staves,
These testaments of my belief.
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