Into the ancient woodland stand
Comes the woodman, axe in hand.
Trunks around him, bold and still,
Felling one, his certain will.
His work is long, his labour vast,
His practised muscles tire at last.
The slow relentless deepening vee
Takes its toll on man and tree.
And at length the forest quakes
As the axe, the falling makes.
The man sits down with tired content,
The battle won, the lumber rent.
In a forest far away
A mark is left - "fell today."
The chainsaw roars, the chips fly out
'Beware, another tree', they shout.
Each man moves on to fell one more
His blood is stirred by bonus score.
He harvests profit-bearing tops,
Dollars rise and timber drops.
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John S. worked in a gardening business and loved the labour saving chainsaw. It made me think how we lose touch with certain kinds of knowledge as we place machines between our muscles and the action they perform. Neither right nor wrong - simply is. People have interpreted this poem as anti-modernization or pro-green. It is neither (or both if that is the way you read it): it is simply a reflection on actions having consequences - some desired and intentional, some unintentional, some undesired. It is a 'systems theory' poem, so to speak.
