I have always been haunted by that poem. Growing up in Northern Maine woods accidents were almost ubiquitous as cancer, until almost the complete mechanism of modernization came take the saw out of the hand, and the hand to a lever inside a heated cab. The Tuft of Flowers is one of my favorites. And though I cannot remember the name, one poem that spoke of splitting wood and an ax helve.
The poem reflects emotion of truth, The reading of Macbeth take me back to my school days, thank you for sharing, Robert Frost makes a point,
The ending is such a mic drop for a poem. Just BOOM.
I keep waiting foe this channel to just blow up and get the subscribers it deserves for thoughtfulness and production quality.
We are working hard for that. Thanks so much for your kind words!❤
I have always been haunted by that poem. Growing up in Northern Maine woods accidents were almost ubiquitous as cancer, until almost the complete mechanism of modernization came take the saw out of the hand, and the hand to a lever inside a heated cab. The Tuft of Flowers is one of my favorites. And though I cannot remember the name, one poem that spoke of splitting wood and an ax helve.