Go whittle down that elm tree stem,
but first sharpen your knife.
Don’t let it leap and then dig deep
into you…end your life.
The blade is sharp and shiny,
in the light very bright.
Don’t open veins—you’ll be in pain
and then be out of sight.

So of the knife be wary
and use it just to cut
the wood you reap; don’t let it creep
astray and carve a rut
in your arm or your nethers;
not for a moment shirk.
Might make a chink, if you should drink,
in your abdomen’s girth.

Now carefully, so carefully
the strips of wood are riven.
Watch them depart as whittling art
is that for which you’ve striven.
Don’t do a van Gogh ear thing;
just focus on that stick
and carve, and carve, and carve until
you’re down to the last nick.

You’ve carved in style that elm tree stem;
sweatily you fileted.
Product’s not thick—it’s a toothpick
I see that you have made.
At least it isn’t angled,
as far as I can tell.
So let’s go crunch upon some lunch,
then molar spaces delve.