by RJ Moody
The ordeal of heating with wood… explained in a poem.
The wood stove needs a cleaning,
and the stove pipe needs it too.
I got a big wire brush on a long thin pole
that I shove right down the flue.
The soot gets on the rooftop,
and the soot gets in the air,
and the soot gets all over both o’ my hands.
There are fingerprints everywhere!
The wood pile needs refilling,
and the kindling bin does too,
and the chain saw needs a brand new chain,
but the old one will have to do.
So I head out to the back yard,
with my saw and a pickaroon,
to cut down a tree, that between you and me,
I shoulda cut down last June.
Sawdust gets in my eyeballs,
and sawdust gets in my hair,
and the sawdust goes right down the back of my shirt,
and from there it goes God knows where!
My boots are filled with wood chips,
and my hands are smeared with pitch,
and I’ll shout hallelujah when the springtime comes,
‘cause burning season’s such a, drag!