A Scrap of Wood

A Scrap of Wood

A scrap of wood

To warm the soul.

To break the chill

To warm a bowl.

He wandered through

The barren yard

Hard scrabble, stone

Dirt frozen hard.

No scrap, no stick

No twig nor branch

Met his eye

Rewarding glance.

His neighbors’ fire

Glowed through filthy pane

Greasy smoke signalled

Warmth in vain.

He walked the path

Grown slick with age

An animal pacing

In its cage.

Seeking change

A pattern broken

A thing to burn

The smallest token.

Neath clotted skies

Tumescent stars

His desperate cries

Heard not afar.

His upward gaze

Concealed the prize

Til he fell upon it

A great surprize

A scrap of wood!

In fact, a log!

Round and dry

He stared, agog.

What is this? luck?

No prayers for wealth.

Perhaps a dream?

He pinched himself.

That hurt, he giggled

An idiots laugh

He covered his mouth

And tripped down the path

He hid the prize

Beneath his coat

Ran into the house

And kissed the goat.

I have it my dear!

We’ll have heat tonight!

Its mine! I found it

I have the right.

As he stripped the bark

To save each sliver

He wondered aloud

Did God deliver?

How did he win

This warm reward?

He felt quite strange

The goat demurred.

But still he would know

The mysterious source

So he crept outside

And retraced his course.

There was no answer

There was no clue

He stood as before

And thought it through.

I was walking thus

Without success

And stopped right here

In cold distress.

What’s this? Another!

First joy, then fear.

This is not right

Who dropped this here?

Just then he saw it

A broken board

On his neighbor’s fence

Near his woodpile hoard.

This fat old man

With his smoking stack!

Who had more than enough

And for nothing lacked.

The board had shifted

Causing the logs to roll

Towards HIS yard

None would say he stole.

It would not be missed

These few logs at night

Besides he owned the yard

And was in the right…

He rightfully snatched

The second log

Scurried back to his lair

In a smoky fog.

The next day was fine

He was warm at last

He walked to town

But walked too fast.

He smiled to himself

And then almost laughed

His joy was a secret

His misery passed.

Then his neighbor saw him

And paused, quite smug.

What cheer inspired

This spineless slug?

Suspicion grew

He would know the truth

He summoned the man

Rank had its use..

“Oho! What joy

Do you celebrate?

Have I missed a joke?

Have I come too late?”

Oh no! What now?

Am I found out?

I am innocent!

I have no doubt…

“No, no! Good neighbor

I laughed at myself!

I was just thinking…

Of a dream of wealth”

“Ha Ha! That’s rich!

You? A man like me?

Good one Neighbor!

Now let me be…”

How smug, The rich.

He walked right home,

Into the yard

And sat on a stone.

The cold wind blew.

He stared at the board,

kicked the fence

and released the hoard.

Thomas Crowley – May 24, 2005