I hear the distant rattle
Of an impact wrench
One quiet Sunday morn
As the noise continues
For a minute, perhaps more
I wonder what is so stuck
So gabbing my cane I hurry
Along my quarter-mile path
To see about this difficult chore
But upon my arrival
I find no one about
And the sound from yon
Returning along my lengthy path
I find the noise is not a wrench at all
But a woodpecker in my tree.