I had a knife in childhood <br />A villager had made <br />It's handle gleamed with birch wood <br />The sheath a darker shade. <br /> <br />When traveling through thick woods <br />I took this knife along <br />And when I found a willow <br />I whittled, whistling songs. <br /> <br />My father oft went stalking <br />For deer, the hunter's gift <br />He didn't mind the grunting <br />Of lives snuffed out so swift. <br /> <br />One day I saw a creature <br />Quite green and speckled fine. <br />I held it with my bare foot <br />And cut its tail and spine. <br /> <br />Its eyes still looked in wonder <br />At me, or so I thought. <br />I ran away. Abandoned <br />my knife, so cunning wrought. <br /> <br />The village calls me coward <br />A softie, ne'er do well. <br />They're right. But did they ever <br />Meet eyes with heaven and hell? <br /> <br />I'm older now and sadder, <br />I will not buy a knife. <br />At evening I still wander <br />To woods where I took life.<br /><br />Liilia Talts Morrison<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-knife-of-life/
