Early morning, It's still dark.
No sound from any bird, not even a lark.
Grab an axe, and slash, and hack
Felling these trees is breaking my back.
Dangerous are these woods out here,
If one is not careful there can be much to fear.
The chockerman has a most dangerous job,
If equipment isn't cared for, your head could be lobbed.
We lumberjacks must have balance, and be fit as a fiddle.
With no warning a cook may hit you with a griddle,
For being a seriously ungracious lout
by ending up his day by your unreasonable pout.
Back to the woods on the road after lunch,
It seems more like a trail is my hunch,
And more conducive to the path for a goat.
The trees seem mad and keep tearing at my coat.
I wouldn't trade my life for the urban jungle.
The people and traffic would put me in a bungle
So here in the woods, working away I shall stay.
So you in the city can build a stick house that won't sway.
I like my life here, so here I shall stay,
No matter what, and come what may.
- Linda Meyer