As fuel dropped in a lake,
Or as one's hair with a brush,
My forever mistress I would make.
You are different with every tree you come from,
Sometimes smooth and straight, sometimes bold.
And all I can do is select the most perfect one,
But which that is, is based on what is my goal.
I bring out your rich lines like ink on a page,
I don't control the shapes, only the depth.
I don't know what I'll find until I cut,
Your beauty kept hidden until your death.
And it's alright,
It's not like it is even a crime,
To have your corpse adorn every room.
Your depth radiates an aura sublime.
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