His saw moves with unerring ease,
Cuts wood into shapes, straight on straight.
No coincidence, no gamble, but pure talent,
A gift that knows every cut.

He feels the wood, its strength, its limit,
Each piece unique, each piece full of wishes.

It is not an art of brute force,
But of precision, of feeling, of softness.

A master with wood, a silent language,
His saw translates it into a story.