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THE COBBLER

He work dawn to dusk ,

Sweet ran down his face ,

The sparks flew ,

But to few now came to see ,

What he had achieved ,

Days had long gone when he shooed,

The family , da , fer pit , mother at mill ,

Leather uppers wooden soled clogs , in museums ,

Now to see ,

Lads , no longer putting irons on wooden clogs , when told ,

On heels and soles ,

Kids for school ,

Cheeky monkeys , hitching a lift on the tail gate of truck passing by ,

There mom giving them , a hiding then sending them ter the cobbler ,

Ter to be shod ,

Irons ter be hammed upon there clogs ,

Rubber , came and replaced the irons ,

The mams would say to the misbehaving kids ,

''Reet , get down ter cobblers '' , '' and ask him '',

Ter put on some new rubber irons on thees clogs '' ,

''Tell , him I 'll pay him next Friday '',

And there mom always did ,

So the cobbler let the fire goo out ,

He could see the writing on the wall ,

Time had come to call it a day

The Dyslexic Poet

Ken D Williams

Poetry by ken d williams