Georges the Lumberjack

This poem falls squarely into the category of #snookmademedoit.

Up in the north where it was really cold,
There was once a man, not too old.
A lumberjack he was, brawny and strong;
Like a good northman, very bold.

Georges worked always in silence, all the daylong.
His axe spoke for him, and seldom spoke wrong.
When he had words with a tree it was soon sure to fall.
Actions and deeds; if the crew were behind, he'd talk all night long.

At the end of the week, meeting their quota, no shortfall
The team was always amazed at his haul.
For one with the success that he had,
Small Georges stood at the most two feet tall!

When the mighty lumberjack was but a lad,
His father looked at him and called out 'egad!'.
"What have I done to deserve one like you?"
So Georges left and lived life as a nomad.

Out on his own he knew not what to do.
He tried life on a circus; he'd work through his due.
Travelling far and wide all over the world,
He learned some life lessons, but most to himself to be true.

When off to the north he finally addled,
As a lumberjack he grew not tall but well muscled.
Away from society and it's unfriendly eyes,
He finally found for him a life to be coupled.

No material goods were his wordly prize,
Hard word and his peace were his enterprise.
The crew that he worked with gave no more thought,
They knew that inside he wore no disguise.

In arctic forests the great jacks had been brought,
With flannel and fur for it sure was not hot.
And with marvel they'd watch as Georges went on a tear,
It was iron and stone from which he was wrought.

Then late one night by the campfire near,
A lumberjack listened; a sound came to his ear.
With concern he jumped up and reached for an axe;
For the sound that he heard belonged to a bear.

A great northern blackbear came rumbling past,
The 'jacks were concerned that this day'd be their last.
Now Georges the brave, he'd give no debate;
To the bear with his axe he went running fast!

One lumberjack threw a steak as some bait,
And other fled screaming to escape this dire fate.
While Georges the Brave, Georges the Stout,
Met the end with this bear who ate him up straight!

Then the bear rumbled off, of that there's no doubt,
Licking the last of small Georges from it's snout.
The lumberjacks gathered the next morning at dawn,
And found for weeks after the bear'd poop Georges out!

They mourned and they cried but had to go on
And sang songs of small Georges, that great small phenom.
Years later, when asked, of their marvelous friend,
The consensus was Georges was their lucky leprechaun.

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(c) All images and photographs, unless otherwise specified, are created and owned by me.
(c) Victor Wiebe

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About Me

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