Glazed watery eyes look toward the valley,
Step from the truck shouldering the morning load,
Aching bones ease to fluid movements,
Old machines croak and groan to life,
It’s hot already,
Engines roar, shouts blare, saws sing,
Dust blankets the scene and,
The cables start to zing,
Grapples clank on logs,
The air is heavy and warm,
While the riggin’ crew watches a swarm,
Trees buckle, tremor, and fall,
The day’s end calls for us all,
And then we watch the valley so pretty,
And thank God we ain’t from the city.
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