n our neighbor lives an old cobber
In the dawn he head for his store.
With his hands coherent behind,
And his back bent tower the ground.
As someone slapped back of his nick,
And still afraid of another one next !
For he demised the craft from
Seven generations, as he claimed.
I went to him once at darkness,
While no eye to see or witness.
And a secret design I showed him.
Brought every substance and item.
Then made him promise and swear,
Won’t tell, except his blind helper.
“Who’s, all this for ?”, he asked.
“For a precious lady”, I replied,
“And a unique woman that she is,
So, only unrivaled she deserves.
I would’ve called the angels to fabricate,
But I’ve heard, you’re the best !.
Then get your tools and gadgets
And with the gentle, expert hands
Make me what no man’s eyes sighted
Nor a brain pictured or imagined.
Yet, no man, than me, luckier
And before he finishes my desire,
Died the poor old cobber.