Once upon a time, a woodcutter went out early one morning to gather firewood. As he reached for his trusty ax, he was shocked to find it missing. He searched high and low, but the ax was nowhere to be found. Puzzled and frustrated, the woodcutter looked around and spotted his neighbor’s son standing near the woodshed.
“That boy must have taken my ax!” thought the woodcutter. He noticed how the boy shifted nervously from foot to foot, his hands stuffed in his pockets, and how his eyes darted around. “He looks so guilty,” the woodcutter muttered. “I know he’s the one who stole it.”
For days, the woodcutter remained convinced that the boy had taken his ax. He watched the boy whenever he passed by, always seeing signs of guilt in his every move.
Then, one afternoon, while moving some firewood, the woodcutter found his ax lying beneath the pile. “Oh! There it is,” he exclaimed, feeling relieved. “I had forgotten I left it here myself!”
The next time the woodcutter saw his neighbor’s son, he looked carefully at the boy again. But this time, he saw nothing unusual. The boy walked past with his hands in his pockets, just like before, but now, the woodcutter didn’t see any guilt in his expression or his movements.
The woodcutter realized how foolish he had been. His own suspicions had clouded his view, making the boy seem guilty when he had done nothing wrong.
Once upon a time, early one morning, a woodcutter got up and stretched like he was getting ready for a big adventure, but really, it was just another day of chopping wood. “Today’s the day I chop the best wood ever!” he declared to, well, no one in particular. He reached for his trusty ax—his wood-chopping sidekick—but wait... it wasn’t there! The woodcutter blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes as if the ax would magically appear. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
He searched around like he was playing a game of hide-and-seek with an ax. “Where could it be?” he muttered, scratching his head. Then he spotted the neighbor’s son hanging around near the woodshed, looking as suspicious as a squirrel in a candy store.
“That boy! He’s got my ax! I knew it!” the woodcutter thought. He folded his arms, squinting at the boy, who was fidgeting and shuffling like he had ants in his pants. “Look at him, all shifty and nervous! Hands in his pockets like he's hiding something. He’s definitely guilty.”
For days, the woodcutter couldn’t stop thinking about it. Every time the boy walked by, the woodcutter stared him down like a hawk eyeing a mouse. The boy, meanwhile, just kept doing normal boy stuff—kicking rocks, whistling badly, and looking... guilty. “Ha! Guilty as charged!” the woodcutter whispered to himself with a nod, feeling oh-so-smart.
But then, one afternoon, while moving a big pile of firewood, he heard a loud *clunk*. He lifted a log and there it was—his ax! It had been under the woodpile the whole time.
“Well, well, well, would you look at that!” the woodcutter said, picking up the ax like it was a long-lost friend. “Guess it wasn’t the boy after all. I just… forgot. Classic me.”
The next time the woodcutter saw the boy, he took a good look. The boy was still shuffling around, hands in pockets, whistling his off-key tune, but this time, the woodcutter didn’t see guilt. He just saw a kid being, well, a kid.
“Maybe I jumped to conclusions,” the woodcutter thought with a sheepish grin. “And maybe… just maybe, I shouldn’t assume people are stealing my stuff every time I misplace it. Now, if I could just remember where I left my hat…”
And with that, the woodcutter chuckled to himself and went back to chopping wood, this time keeping a better eye on his ax. After all, no one wants to lose their trusty sidekick twice!
A woodcutter rose with the light of the day,
He reached for his ax, but it had gone away.
He searched through the shed and all ‘round the trees,
But his ax was missing, lost in the breeze.
His eyes fell upon a young boy nearby,
Who shuffled his feet and didn’t meet his eye.
The woodcutter thought, “That boy took my tool!”
The way that he fidgets, he’s playing me for a fool."
For days he watched the boy passing by,
Certain he'd stolen it, sure he would lie.
Each glance made him think, “Yes, he’s the one,
He must be guilty for what he has done.”
But one sunny day, as wood filled his store,
He found his lost ax, right under the floor.
He laughed at himself, how could he forget?
It wasn’t the boy—no crime had been met.
The next time the boy walked through the lane,
The woodcutter looked, but it wasn’t the same.
No guilt in his face, no secret to hide,
Just a boy on a walk with nothing to bide.
The woodcutter learned, as his thoughts grew bright,
That judgment too quickly can blur your sight.
For sometimes the guilt that you think you can see,
Is just your own shadow, not meant to be.
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse varius enim in eros elementum tristique. Duis cursus, mi quis viverra ornare, eros dolor interdum nulla, ut commodo diam libero vitae erat. Aenean faucibus nibh et justo cursus id rutrum lorem imperdiet. Nunc ut sem vitae risus tristique posuere.
