Poem May 18, 1987 ISSUE

The carpenter

Rosemary S. Pendery

The carpenter once stoodat his workbench.You could hear the soundof his hammerhitting its mark.People woketo the sound early in the morning."It's like a call to rise,"they said. And they got upand went about their work.

"More like an annoyancewhen we want to sleep.Wish he'd hammersomewhere besides Nazareth,"said others.And then one day he did.His hammer sounded no morein that place."Where has he gone?"asked those who hadwakened early.

Send a comment to the editors

NEXT IN THIS ISSUE

Article

Is there a way out of anxieties?