Bright Harvest by Grace Noll Crowell - HTML preview

Boy with an Axe

A

RED-CHEEKED boy with a red scarf

blowing,

And an axe with its silvery blade as sharp

As the winter wind in its heady going,

And through the bare branches a twanging harp

Strums on its taut-stretched strings a-singing

Telling of winter and its wild joy—

Above him, three black crows are winging,

Alarmed by the tread of a tramping boy.

Out at last to the sunny clearing,

And now an axe’s echoing sound

Calling to all who would be hearing

That soon a tree would fall to the ground.

A boy’s hard muscles—an axe’s bite—

And the woods with a little more space and light.

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