The Stolen Ax

A man looks for his ax. He cannot find it. He feels sad and mad.

He sees a boy near his house. The boy looks nervous. The man thinks, "The boy took my ax."

Every day, the man watches the boy. He thinks the boy looks guilty. The man is sure the boy took the ax.

One day, the man moves some wood. He finds his ax under the wood! He feels happy and a little silly.

The next time he sees the boy, he looks again. Now, the boy does not look guilty. The man knows the boy did nothing wrong.

He learns not to judge too quickly.

Once upon a time, early in the morning, a woodcutter set out to gather firewood. As he reached for his reliable ax, he was alarmed to discover it was missing. He searched thoroughly, but no matter where he looked, the ax was nowhere to be found. Confused and increasingly frustrated, he scanned the area and noticed his neighbor’s son lingering near the woodshed.

“He must have taken my ax,” the woodcutter concluded. He watched the boy closely, noting how the boy seemed nervous, shifting from one foot to the other with his hands buried deep in his pockets. “Look at how guilty he seems,” the woodcutter muttered. “I’m sure he’s the one who stole it.”

For several days, the woodcutter couldn’t shake the belief that the boy had taken his ax. Each time the boy passed by, the woodcutter scrutinized his every move, always interpreting his behavior as guilty.

Then, one afternoon, as the woodcutter was rearranging some firewood, he stumbled upon his ax hidden under a pile of logs. “There it is!” he exclaimed in relief. “I had completely forgotten that I left it here!”

The next time he saw the neighbor’s son, the woodcutter observed him again. But this time, he saw nothing suspicious. The boy walked by with his hands in his pockets, just like before, but now the woodcutter no longer saw any signs of guilt in his face or actions.

The woodcutter realized how foolish he had been. His own misplaced suspicions had clouded his judgment, causing him to wrongly accuse the boy of something he had never done.

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.