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I recently received an inquiry from Pamela Hanson, who asked if I knew of a poem that could be read at a memorial service for her father, Roland Hanson, who was, among other things, a woodworker. Not finding one in my files I was led to give voice to these words.

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	cut straight
	with figure difficult,
	close grain complex, 
	resistant to the blade,
Negotiates a plane, a curve,
	with hands that bring it docile to a vision – 
	wood made useful far beyond its death 
	with beauty hidden in its heart.
The tools are laid aside,
	their work fulfilled.
The wood now burnished, 
	burning with the craftsman’s soul,
	shines forth in praise and gratitude.