The Cobbler’s Workshop

The cobbler stands out front of his shop
Smoking a cigarette on the street corner
And I’m thinking how close he is to a storybook character
Maybe he is one
A life on a page read by candlelight
Somewhere not in the cold wind along this street
But then what am I?
The air smells of leather and stories
Written in the soles on the wall
Like thumbprints skinned off and hung up high
They were wearing away to nothing when they came here
Ready to give in to the world and fall apart
But the hero of this story will give them new life
Born again to grind against the street
The door to the workshop is shut against the cold
The wind blows lazily along the road outside
And windows glow with candlelight against the coming night

Image by Germans Aļeņins from Pixabay

I remember hearing a story as a kid about a cobbler who woke each morning to find that elves had come into his workshop in the night and crafted an increasingly beautiful pair of shoes. That kind of magic has stayed with me through the years.

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