Nobody knew whose woods these are
No wagon here hitched to a star
But travelers countless stop to ask
Who put Paul Bunyan to his task?
Was Babe, beloved, simply myth?
Based on some bovine megalith?
No Great Lakes formed by massive feet?
A misty figment axed, incomplete?
Nobody knew whose woods these are
Planted before railroad, telephone, and car
They say he planted to help those in need
But was there really once a Johnny Appleseed?
Did he deprive the wealthy so the poor could have good?
Did he try to make Nottingham be what it should?
And if then was now, would you join him if you could?
Like Friar Tuck and Little John to Robin Hood?
And should mention be made of Zeus or Ishtar?
Of Medusa, Icarus, or some minotaur?
Myths and legends, umbras from afar
Nobody knows whose woods these are.
His house is in the village though
Its filled with warmth and family glow
Pears and veggies, gardens grow
This is a guy we’ve come to know.
No shady mist, he’s easy to see
He moves strong, he moves gently
His words of rock set others free
Our Mockingjay’s not mocking me
As true to duty as needle to pole
Humble, honest, thoroughly whole.
The world turns fair where his feet light
He speaks the truth day and night
So Robin, Johnny, Zeus and Paul
If you can hear behind mythic wall
There’s a legend alive, with us today,
40 year old Madsen, Jay!
Written Oct. 18, 2014, for his 40th party, at Delilah's
Larry Pahl, Streamwood, IL