Oliver Wood splintered into town
decked out in brown hues, a dressing gown.
He dripped, ran … oozing from head to toe …
laid open by an axe, but was soon mended. He glowed.
Forming a posse, men brought to town the logger down.
Oliver Wood smiled, his anger spiraled around, drown.

The women, old and young, fell for Oliver’s sway,
he went out on a limb … both night and day.
Broken hearts were wrung, then hung on the line,
Oliver knew these ladies were not of his kind.
Leafing out, he caught sight of a new spruce,
That tart little twig stole his heart, cooked his goose.

Oliver Wood ventured here, there, everywhere …
wandering … a dear, sweetest thing, a heart of sap.
Never a seed did he sow, leaving no remembrance
but, then, his bark was quite an encumbrance.
He didn’t deserve relatives like Pinocchio
as lying, trickery, were things he didn’t know.

Oliver Wood splintered … fell due to the sound
of the monstrous steam engine when it came to town..