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The Whittler and the Stick
There once was a man I saw,
Who was whittling upon a stick
I came thither, so intrigued that day then,
At the simple age, of no score and ten
The man whittled still,
and sang to himself a tune
"Oh dear Catherine,
I whittle these sticks for you.
Each one step closer,
To my promise of six score and ten!"
I asked him how many,
He had whittled so
He said "One score and ten."
And his face had turned bright red!
And so I collected,
Some fine specimen of sticks
And together we had ourselves,
Two score and some odd ten
The ripe old man,
He had continued so,
With each and every stick,
Singing that tune as he go
"Oh dear Catherine,
I whittle these sticks for you.
Each one step closer,
To my promise of six score and ten!"
After we had realized,
We had broken some much too large,
We broke those up some more,
And we had enough for three score and ten
As the old man whittled,
I inquired upon his age
Just to get a glimpse,
Of the history of this sage
He said with his soft voice,
"Son," with a smile upon his head,
This year makes me now,
But four score and ten."
But then what of the sticks,
The promised six score and ten?
"They are for the years,
That my love and I have shared."
And he continued on,
In his jaunty whittling tune
"Oh dear Catherine,
I whittle these sticks for you.
Each one step closer,
To my promise of six score and ten!"
But how would you have,
Six score and ten?
Were the years greater,
Than those you've been alive?
"My love and I were angels,
Long before our birth.
Two score before our arrival,
Was when we found each other's worth."
And he whittled on,
Singing once again
"Oh dear Catherine,
I whittle these sticks for you.
Each one step closer,
To my promise of six score and ten!"
"My dear boy,
Do yourself a favor.
When you have met yourself a love,
Thank her and then the Creator!"
And so he and I,
Had fulfilled his promise
And I returned home
With a whittled stick
I then met myself,
A love who was defined
And after years we parted
Due to natural orders quite divine
But that whole time,
During which I gained many years
I would never rid of the stick,
Even if I were five score and ten!
And so one day,
I had slowly made my way
Into my chambers,
And saw the stick sat by her frame
Then at the age,
Of four score and ten,
I knew what I must do,
Evelynn, this I'll do for you!
"Oh dear Evelynn,
I whittle these sticks for you.
Each one step closer,
To my promise of seven score and ten!"
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