Fingers calloused as hardened bark
Rest, weary, upon his handiwork.
Eons of burning the midnight oil –
From dusk till dawn he doth toil.
The candle burns low; the night drags slow
Yet the tireless labour fails to cease.
Upon velvet paws creeps slumber deep,
Mother Nature among all falls swiftly asleep.
Night and day he works away
For the pitiful fruits of his labour.
A leisurely lifestyle my father forewent –
His sacrifice for the kin of his descent.
My legacy is crafted day by day –
Each engraving carves my future
This is the raw beauty: the everlasting love
Inscribed, stroke by stroke, by the crafter’s hands.