Page 75 - Poetry-Whimsy

The Dying Shoemaker

“Dear wife, I’m waxing near my end,”
The dying cobbler said;
“Soon to an upper world my sole
Its lonely way must thread.

“I fear, indeed, I’m pegging out;
But then what boots it, love?
Here we have been a fitted pair,
And so we’ll be above.

“My ills, I know, no drugs may heel,
So it’s well to prepare;
We can’t run counter to our fate—
Just put a peg in there!

“The future need not give you care,
I’ve left my awl to you;
For deep within my inner sole
I know that you’ve been true.

“I’ve always given you your rights,
But now you must be left;
However, do not grieve too much
When of me you’re bereft.

A last farewell I now will take.”
He smiled and raised his head.
“B-last the cruel malady
That lays you low,” she said.

—(The Norristown Herald)

~ 73 ~