Goon poem

Give me six hours to chop down a tree and i will spend the first four gooning. The tree won’t fall to random hits, but gooning finds the perfect bits. They swing their axe with aimless rage, i goon in peace, then set the stage. You chase the goal, but miss the flow. A gooner knows just when to go. With gooning first, i set the tone. The final hit is mine alone. I stare, i loop, i learn the tree and then i chop it easily. I don’t attack the wood with fear i goon untill the path is clear. Some say to strike and never think but gooners pause and never sink. They mock the time i goon alone. Yet wonder how i break the stone. Some train with force, some train with fire. But gooners train with calm desire. Four hours in, i know it well. Then one clean hit, and down it fell. Gooning first is not delay. It’s how we master work and play.