The Cobbler

Four score and thirty days

Not so long ago

A cobbler opened shop to find

A woman in the snow

The pair met eyes, then looked down

Exchanged polite ‘hello’s’

Where she’d been for weeks unseen

No one really knows

A pair of ankle leather boots

Held high for all on show

Soles were gaping wide

From the wiggle in her toes

A pair of tiny cabbage moth

Fluttered from inside

Laces frayed, all strung out

From wandering, retired

The cobbler grasped the worn out boots

And nursed them on inside

The woman tiptoed in barefoot

Hopped across the tiles

She laughed and threw her hair back

At the sight of two white birds

Nudging feathers, Dancing struts

Long looks and worbled words

In silence as the cobbler

Set about the modest task

Her eyes began to wander off

A many thousand yards

She waited all the day for them

Into the eventide

Curled up and watched them

On the mend till

Both their mouths yawned wide

Refurbished seams

Darned by hand

The sole fixed just in time

Another day or two

There’d be none left to bind

By now, the white birds

On the ledge had settled

In to nest

As moonlight broke

Through window pane

The silence broke in jest

In stereo they stood and sighed

The handiwork her best

As cobbler hands them back and says

‘Go put them to the test’

Tiny feet filled hefty boots

Strung up with new found lace

Second wind took hold of her

A gladness came to face

Considered all her soles to mend

‘I’ll see you in four days’

She’ll travel to the farthest hills

A hundred different ways

Braced for more adventures

Wrapped in leather and in lace

Smiles ignited in the store

She left without a trace

If you spy an empty shop

Pass by the cobbler’s place

See her staring at the hills

With smile you can’t erase

Oatlands, Tasmania