Shoes smelling of leather,
Cloth dipped in paint,
Soles pressed neatly,
And brushes that chafe.

An old leathery man,
Adoringly buffs the people shoes,
Taking great care,
In the futures new 'hooves'.

Little does he mind,
The oil staining his fingers,
As long as he sees,
Children with feet covered.

Old man sits,
Day after day,
Molding shoes anew,
With practiced hands.

A soft smile lightens,
When he hears the bell to his store,
And he knows,
More of his shoes,
Go to the shore.

For part of him lives,
In each and every shoe,
For his craft is with him,
And journeying too.

So he delights,
In everyday work,
Knowing and dreaming,
Of all that he does.

Chaffing brushes
And neatly pressed soles,
Paint dipped cloth,
And leathery smelling shoes.