Carpentry Too tired to go on, he turned away And looked at where he'd spent years of labour, Then bent again to his lathe. The sun split through Windows, dust and shavings, and caught his hands As they ran to their task. The craft that shaped A race of dolls, boats, bicycles and tools Remained to him. Then he closed crowing eyes On the day's breath as it shrank softly to mist, And saw that it was good. -- Scott Anderson