Carpenter’s Dilemma


Carving his way through a big chunk of wood

Call it chunk now, If you must 

By the time the carpenter was through with it

It was anything but a chunk of wood

Chink, Chink as he worked his way 

Breaking, smoothing, perfecting

Each blow on the chisel, one step to triumph 

A frown, then satisfaction

An uncertainty, then a smile for a fraction

Hands rough, skin cracked

His devotion to his work, quite  

Something has him held, something he cannot see

Feels it as he stares at his nearly done work

Where would he find the missing piece?

How would he make it complete?

 

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