Shiny axe, whetstone honed, could serve to shave his face. Wrapped in oilcloth, set in leather, his tool awaits the test. Corked boots grip the aspen, calloused hands on hickory handle. Muscles bulge in readiness to conquer a two-foot log. Two blows left, two right, Quick, hard, big chips fly. Five more each side, And halfway through. Quick jump to the other side, he starts a joining vee. Mind stayed, a single goal, body swinging, cut deepening, Then, crack, the job is done. My timberjack’s eye is keen, his body strong, and soon his eye will turn to me, his mind will stay on another goal. Muscles bulge, but not to conquer, his calloused hands will aim to please. Those strong eyes will be just as stayed as on an aspen log.