Mending a chair

When life becomes too much for me, I like to work with my hands.

             Mending a chair

There is something that I like about wood.

Then, one morning the chair was there,

just perched precariously upon a pile

of rubble from our building work;

and where it came from I had no idea;

it’d just been left there – an old chair,

waiting to be taken away and crushed.

So, I brought it down for a closer look,

that I could better gauge its weight.

Lifting it told me at once it was oak,

well-weathered, as an outdoor chair;

and I could see that all that was missing

from its back was a vertical slat,

that I easily replaced from my store.

I took the time to sand by hand,

taking special care to preserve the grain.

Once smooth I applied a varnish,

to protect it from future wind and rain.

It’s redeemed now, in our garden,

and I’m content to be sitting in it,

my hands resting along the arms.

And I like to think it will outlast me;

and by my doing practical good,

I’ve preserved the life that’s still in its wood.

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