KNIFE SHARPER THAN MY WITS
Never in my spry young life
Expect to create a perfect knife.
I sawed a two-inch sapling branch
From the tree stand on our ranch.
Twig knots were in the perfect space,
Became a carved knife’s showcase.
Bark handle with a willow blade.
An exact replica I’d made.
It was razor sharp and honed,
Only hunting knife I’d owned.
Showed Dad my handmade knife with pride
With younger brothers at my side.
He held, inspected, felt the edge,
“You carved this from a live tree hedge?”
He vaguely gave the knife some praise,
Mem’ry now is merely a haze.
He put it on a high shelf ledge,
Again feeling the point and edge.
“Put it SOMEWHERE” was his cliche’
But it was truly…put away!
Fact: Never saw my knife again!
Forever hidden…way back then.
© 2014 by Orv Alveshere, Fargo ND, from my collection “DAD KNOWS BEST”
