Carvings

[couchgrouch]

CarvingsA small boy sits and whittleswood with a rusty bladeit soon takes shape and he's proudof the simple art he's madehe puts his initialsin the cheap homemade paintwalks to a Juarez marketto sell his tiny saintsthey're carvings by a handthat seems to understandthe touch of truth and graceeven canyons cut by riverswhose shadows last forevertheir majesty can't be erasedand the wind is a chiselits blue midnight whistlecuts lines in a cowboy's faceby nature or by knifeall are part of life's carvingsa man chisels at marblelong in the lonely nighta photo on a workstandwatches in the dusty lighther love was pure and pricelessand can never be replacedbut he smiles through his teardropsat the likeness of her facein carvings by a handthat seems to understandthe touch of truth and graceeven canyons cut by riverswhose shadows last forevertheir majesty can't be erasedand the wind is a chiselits blue midnight whistlecuts lines in a sailor's faceby nature or by knifeall are part of life's carvingstwo lovers' names in the barkof a willow in the parksomeone carves a lonesome poem'neath the dates on a cold headstonecos one way or anotheras mem'ries or as loverswe all leave our markbut there's another artistthat only faith defineswho made valleys and mountainsfrom the hardened stone of timehe forms ribbons of colorfrom soft morning rainworking his wonders in secretletting beauty sign his namein carvings by a handthat seems to understandthe touch of truth and graceeven canyons cut by riverswhose shadows last forevertheir majesty can't be erasedand the wind is a chiselits blue midnight whistlecuts lines in a cowboy's faceby heaven or by knifeall are part of life's carvings(c)2005 Robert George