....deserted and hard pressed,
peeled back from weathered exposure,
i often think back to younger days,
when those that passed me by gave thanks….
—-my scar is deep that runs within my trunk,
and this i received at the hands of an-other,
scars and wounds are but battle purging follies,
while i am left to bear a showing of what re-mains….
—-tis better that i bear my pain of shame,
in the silence of these forgotten woods,
since when will come those who will want to reach up,
and pluck my bark to just have a go at saying “yes i did”....
—-the birches that once sang a merry song of gladness,
have slowly passed from within my sight,
while now i depend upon my wing feathered friends,
to bear me up with tales of what goes on….
....so take my picture and keep note of where i am,
re-turn this way as oft’ you will in seasons of snow,
and i will look forward to your kindly face that feels my pain,
but remember to give the thanks for living legends of folk-wood-tales….
”....for twas in the seasons of the woods, amongst these that so surround me now, that many trees soon came to know my name, as one who practiced the ancient storytelling of ‘wood art’….”
-- --frank, NH, http://rusticwoodart.tumblr.com/