Skirmish prompt. "Give voice to an inanimate object to your immediate left or right"
Hickory Ridge in western Pennsylvania,
The trees they were giants on Hickory Ridge,
Their seeds from a line that went back millennia,
All that's left now: the bare top of a hill.
I lean quietly against a cold fireplace,
My body of wood and my head of old steel,
I have existed for over a century,
Now I am little more than décor.
Gone are the days when I would be hefted,
Swung at the trees on Hickory Ridge,
My bite would go deep into those giants,
Finish the work of saw and of wedge.
All of us formed of Bethlehem steel,
Hickory handles, so light and so strong,
The lumber we cut built all the houses,
The scraps became charcoal to fuel Bethlehem.
Now that old ridge is bare as a golf course,
The wind whips across with nothing to stop it,
And still I lean by a cold fireplace,
The trees they were giants on Hickory Ridge.
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