A Cautionary Male

A Poem by Ann Kyle

I knew a man who burnt green wood,

A few sticks at a time.

He chopped and and lugged

And split and groaned,

Kicked in the door to bring it home,

Dropped his load upon the floor,

Then went back out to fetch some more.


His wife

(She’d been a lovely girl)

Stayed close to home to stoke.

Bent before that greenwood fire

Filled with passionate desire

She blew and blew and poked.


Never did a gentleman work so hard

To prove his worth for love.

One day, burdened, tired, sore,

He kicked the weather-beaten door

To find he had a wife no more.


She’d met a man who burnt dry oak,

Which left him time to tell a joke

Which kept his wee wife warm and cheer,

And winter…but three months a year.


Two gentlemen both with equal land,

Equal brawn and cleft of chin,

Equal depth of well and bin,

But one could not enjoy his life

And so the other won his wife,

And non e’er burnt greenwood again.


Poem reprinted with permission from Ann Kyle. The poem was printed in the winter edition of  Green Living Journal

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