“Wood Finish,” New Era, Aug. 1978, 21
Wood Finish
His hands held tools and scraped raw wood until
It smiled in beauty. His hands bled after
Such rough work. There were tables that he built
And chairs and even tiny cradles
Of pure wood. His hands held tools and He
Was strong and rough, they thought, as He would pound
And split whole logs and scrape them raw in silence
With his bleeding hands. He left us more
Than wooden things and more than blood when those
Hands nailed Him to the wood, the wood he loved,
Wood and nails by which He lived, He died,
Pierced through by earth’s thick wood and iron nails.
Photo by Paul Mower