Grief Logger

I have become a grief logger. I used to swim in grief, Then I crawled in grief, And then I walked in grief.

Now I ply my trade, A logger harvesting The Tree of Life, Others around me swim and crawl, While I ply my trade.

I've learned how to swim, I no longer meet the water where it is, I stay on dry land, And no I am not a bog! I am a logger of grief.

The world demands its pay, And I have learned to shake away, The tears that once streamed down my face, All now properly in their place.

There is no breaking down the logger, His ax is sharp, his walk a saunter. I cannot rush, I cannot fool, I no longer swim In that pool (He cannot rush or fool, or swim against the whirling pool)

So chop and chop, And carry away the pain, Of others grief, On this timbered day.