One Chord of Wood

Measure me one chord of wood

That once had topped the tallest tree,

That once high in the forest stood

And no horizon could not see.

I could burn some wood for heat

When life and love had smoldered cold,

But then in ashes, most complete,

Would be the life it used to hold,

Or build a table, stool or chair

To elevate my upheld life,

Or maybe I could build a stair,

Or carve a flute, guitar, or fife.

A sculpture then, I'd next engrave

And shape with blade my mind's relief,

Then build a barrel for my staves,

These testaments of my belief.