The shop floor is littered with curled shavings and dust, the stave is secured in your grandfathers vice unused for years until you removed the rust, now bolted securely to a place on the bench where you work with your hands and tools that you trust. A drawknife, a spoke shave, cabinet scrapers all sharpened to the refined edges you need for the task, To shape the wood, and free the bow, is all that you ask!

Thanks, Lance

I wish this was posted as I typed it in stanza form. I’ll learn someday how to do it. I hope you enjoy it. Lance

Nice, Lance!

i

think

you

have

to

double space

Roses are red, violets are blue. If I finish this bow, I'll give it to you.

The shop floor is littered with curled shavings and dust,

the stave is secured in your grandfathers vice unused for years until you removed the rust,

now bolted securely to a place on the bench where you work with your hands and tools that you trust.

A drawknife, a spoke shave, cabinet scrapers all sharpened to the refined edges you need for the task,

To shape the wood, and free the bow, is all that you ask!

Thanks, Lance

That about sums it up. Very nice.

Thanks John and George!

Lance is a great poet, struggling to get out of an archers body ;^)

Nice Lance!

Very Good!

:))

Thanks Lance enjoyed your poem.

Very nice!

Sounds like somebody needs to start building wood bows????? :)

I tried to make a bow but dono? The labor of love my wife said she was jealous of that bow! She tried to say she never had that much time spent on her or anything else. LOL

That has to change or I will be left in the rain. She said the animal heads and the turkeys about will have to keep me warm when I'm gone.

I said come now and then and cook me a hen and then I will remember again what we had and we will be together again.

The end.

Thanks, knifeguy. Nice poem. Jawge

Sisters are pink

Brothers are blue

When I make my first bow

I’ll make it for you.

Irregularly encountering words that rhyme

Isn't my kind of poem, for a dime,

or less.

Very nice

The young bower was preparing for the show Whith his wife in the house about to blow She said with a glare, With sawdust in the air I wont be here when you come back if you go.

Coming home Sunday the man had forgotten How his wife had treat him so rotten. As he pulled in the drive He felt so alive At the freedom his hobby had bought'em

Nice, Nybubba.

Folks shan't rush to rhyme without patience

Cuz even half-decent poems have cadence.

Nice poems, Pearl it sounds like more than one of us needs to start making bows....Ha!Ha!

Just like with anything worth doing. Practice makes perfect. scrape sand bend. Then do it again. Scrape sand bend. Then do it again. Till you get that ark even on both ends. Keep doing it again and again. Take your time and make a rhyme. If you do it to quick. You might hear that dreadful tick. So take your time and scrape that limb a little at a time. So you don't break that beautiful bow your making. ;-) It never hurts to try it.

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