Our lives can best be understood

In all the things we craft from wood

Beechwood laid our cabin floor

Hung knotted pine our shanty door

Six bowls we carved from fallen maple

A burnt mahogany sets our table

A dozen spoons and forks by hand

Hewn perfect fit for every man

And woman, too, beneath the knife

Whittle etchings of our humble  life

Soft wicker thatched this rocking chair

And spruce the toys sprawled everywhere

In wooden homes that we have built

We hang on pegs our history quilts

Each patch a memory lovingly stitched

Our purses poor, our lives quite rich.

Our beds and wardrobes never falter

We hand carved those from summer alder

Our coffins too, of stout mesquite

For when our journey is complete

In wood we find our heart’s desire

Or pain if come the wayward fire

And even so, most grievous sin

Not to build from wood again

So now you better understand

How we live upon this land

Within the forest, and it in us

In God we hope, in wood we trust.