A Wise Shoemaker

tadeusz_makowski_szewc

Curbed in the underbelly of the town,

Lived a shoemaker.

That nobody knew where he came from,

A wise man – he was perceived of.

Early in the morning he sets up his shoe box,

And shouts through the day:

Come, let me mend your shoe,

Don’t have a copper? Throw me a nickel or two;

Let me hide your smelly toe,

Let me relieve you from your pain,

Let me fix your bloody stain,

For I am the secret keeper –

My lips never parted without a reason.

Let me see what secrets you hide,

So, I can mend your sole, side to side.

I hold no prejudice, I hold no race;

I tend every foot, even with a scarred face.

Though I smell of mud and wax,

My skill will shine your charm.

I will polish you ready, for the missies;

I will scrub you steady, for the bosses.

Like it or not, you need such mend,

I am your shoemaker –

I am your secret friend

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