In Woods of Pine
By Elizabeth Santos
For Nancy Ness
Upon visiting her childhood home
In rural Massachusetts



Walls of stone through woods of pine
Marked the land that once was mine
Where violets spread across the lawn
And frogs croaked out from dusk til dawn

A house of shingles wood and brick
Amongst the trees ten acres thick
Was where a family lived its time
In cozy rooms of knotty pine

A little woodshop painted red
Still stands unnoticed by the shed
The hand tools of a skillful man
Felt comfort in his practiced hand

A due respect they still bestow
Each lined up neatly in a row
As if obediently in place
And undisturbed within its space

Through autumn wind and winter storm
A little woodstove kept him warm
And through the woodshop window pane
He saw the windy coast of Maine’

He lived in past and future days
But in the present misty haze
He whittled out of season’s time
A Swedish dream in woods of pine

Well worn by little booted feet
Were footpaths into woodlands deep
And gardens on a rocky slope
Both vestiges of strength and hope

And still the tools remain in place
And still the land retains its grace
The summer swamps that turn to ice
Still lace the fringe of paradise

He cared for this, his sacred lot
As though God granted him this plot
Knowing that his skillful art
Would etch these memories in my heart

[This message has been edited by Nan (05-15-2011 09:35 AM).]

quote:

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And still the tools remain in place
And still the land retains its grace
The summer swamps that turn to ice
Still lace the fringe of paradise

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