It is the sound of the log splitting
and its echo
which marks my passage
into manhood. My father stands
...
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I can hear the echo. This poem is not only visual but auditory...and also from the heart. Nice job. Raynette
Tim: You brought back a fond memory for me with your poem. My Dad showed me the technique, and I still remember the elm wood fighting and gripping our wedges in it's twisty fibers, making him glad it was no longer a one person job. Thanks. Chuck