The Creative Corner

Once towering cedars, fallen by stout lumberjacks.

Then stripped of their bark, with a razor sharp axe.

Cut seven feet long, they are roughly hand split,

Then are promptly sent, to a tarry creosote pit.

Along comes a farmer, needing to build a corral.

Treated for days, they’re now ready to sell.

Yet dripping and gooey, covered with a black muck,

Lifted out of the pit, and loaded onto a truck.

It’s a long rough ride, out there to the field.

There’s no escaping---their fate has been sealed.

A round hole is dug deep, in hard earth and scab rock.

Doomed to a grave, oh---if only fence posts could--...