A gentle craft molded in patience
With each tug of the smooth leather
Exchanging the pliers, the pinchers,
The small hammer, the awl and other tools
In his firm grasp stitching...tacking
Hands ten times stronger than a boxer
As beads of sweat sporadically splashed
Onto the scrap laden surface
Around the practical workbench
Reeking with fumes of solvents and toil
A lifelong artisan creating footprints
As the day ended
As his life ended
Placing his kind alongside blacksmiths,
Lamplighters, rag men, etc.....
To an era of the bygone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem