Creativity

I saw the old man circling the tree trunk Weather beaten skin, bent gnarled hands and piercing blue eyes He seemed to study every knot and crack in that ancient timber Then without a word turned and picked up hammer and chisel The wood chips then began to fly and like confetti on the ground lie soon in heaps some ankle high Occasionally he would stand back and look but never once a rest he took Mallet strokes both hard and soft some from under some aloft fell there with unerring skill always busy never still Long into the night he worked now by the light of an oil lamp and so the tree stump 'neath his hand then became a work of art At long last he stood and turned to me and said three words " that'll do lad" I approached to see just what he'd done and there I saw the perfect rose every petal and leaf in place the slender stems in the breeze did sway With no plan or picture he had made the start And created the perfect work of art. So what is creativity? Well that's your next challenge. No love poems because they've been done a million times. This time something unique

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Written by

joe-cole

English

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