OurBrownCounty 14July-Aug | Seite 55

The Wooden Angel

Some say that I Just made this up, While others know the truth, It happened to a friend of ours When we were in our youth.

While other boys were playing war With guns and toy tanks, Michael always walked away And always said,“ No thanks.” He really didn’ t care for war, He didn’ t like to fight, He thought there must be other ways To somehow make things right!
While other boys had larger toys Like a train or toy rocket, Michael treasured just one toy He carried in his pocket. And every day he went to play When no one was about, Then Michael in a secret place Would bring his one toy out And place there on a little rock An angel carved in wood, And some might call the carVing crude While others think it good!
But Michael didn’ t really care What other people thought, He had a toy like no one else That wasn’ t sold or bought. His Grampa cut it from a tree Where Michael had a swing, A tree that Michael loved to watch Come back to leaf each spring.
But then one night the lightning struck, The tree fell to the ground, And Grampa carved a little piece For him to carry around. So everywhere that Michael went His Grampa always knew An angel from their special tree Would always be there, too!
When he and Grampa took a walk On paths through woods and field, GrampA always found the things That nature kept concealed. And Michael learned about the frog, He heard the tale of snake, Stories of the bugs and birds, And all the sounds they make!
Grampa showed him things unseen, Like the talent of the deer That how by simply standing still They simply disappear. He showed him how a rabbit’ s hole Outwits the smartest fox, And how the turtle stays alive By living in a box. Grampa knew the shape and size Of every single creature, Fins and wings and legs and things, And every other feature! He knew how high the eagle flew, How fast a tree would grown, Nothing Lived or grew on earth That Grampa didn’ t know! At least that’ s how young Michael felt As he looked through his eyes, For every day of Grampa’ s life Was colored by surprise!
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July / August 2014 • Our Brown County 55