Poetry by Carson Pytell
The Old man took me into snowy woods
To fetch timber for the stove.
He, being a man, walked directly up the hill
Where the timber lay covered
And immediately bent his back to it.
And I, being a child,
Rolled snowballs here,
Looked up trees there,
Paced around my own tracks
And counted them once or twice
Before beginning a snowman.
After a while father called me over,
But he didn’t need any help with the logs.
We only stood quiet a moment amongst the snow
And looked back at where we came.
Then he asked if I saw anything worth seeing.
And I did, of course I did.
But I was only a child, and didn’t think twice.
Now, being a man, the only difference is
I bring in the logs first.
About the Poet
Carson Pytell is a poet who lives in upstate New York where he studies at the University of Albany. He has not previously been published and reads and writes daily.
Vita Brevis Press. 
Well done.
Such a touching and unique perspective from the boy who is now a man. Keep on writing Carson…your words ring true.
MLL
Nice insight. There is always more than the task to notice – always.
A beautifully subtle way of life evolving and growing older in a short span of words.
Praise to the perceptive child and the respectful adult.
Very nice visual and reflection.
Excellent poetic storytelling