I have no taste for chopping wood
Outside on chilly autumn eves
I shiver like the shadows by
The pine trees, and the piles of leaves
My axe is heavy, splinters split
My gloveless hands, my brow is cool
A life inside I much prefer
Inside is safe, I play the fool.
Yet I will swing and by these logs
I’ll keep my glinting hearth alive
My labour spent to feed the flame
That climbs and crackles so I thrive
I have to do this work alone
Upon return my eyes will smile
I run this work into the night
I risk the shadows for the light.