THE
WOODCARVER
His
blade moved gently, carving slow
A
joyous act he loved to know
Removing portions not in need
In
search of all his visions plead
Born
of passions. Found inside
Fulfilled creations. Undenied
His knowing hands now guide the wood
Between them both it's understood
His
careful touch. The blade's caress
The
wood responds to tenderness
Unfolding now this growing sight
Revealing all that he thought right
Just
freeing what did not belong
He
found the tenderness in strong
The
wood and carver. Bound as one
Inside a dance that's never done
©
Russell Robison
