The Lord’s made of this spruce
an example:—been blighted, been burnt,
but like the bush his huff stoked,
not, not yet, been burnt up.
By what little pitter-patter he seen fit,
from scratch heap, through scrub,
been brought up:—though withered
by glare, though ice-thinned, still, up
to the canopy. Been hacked down,
ricked on a trailer, and hauled
to the mill. No map of plenty are these
annular rings, but no grain count
is higher. Been cut, and there is no more
keener cut of mandolin.