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.