The Artisan

Silent, the maker measured, and stood

Smothered his smile and trimmed shapeless wood

With firm, strong hands, assured and slow

Drove each rusty nail with a careful kind blow

His truth to be humble, and fashion with tools

Tables and benches, kind words from his youth

Draw those even lines

Share his peace of mind

As the artisan shines

Dark burnished wood slid through his hands

Split right down the centre, like a crack in the land

Ash, beech and rosewood, tied in a frame

All scorched into their faces, are numbers and names

Shades of a memory, saw, spit and dust

For the warmth in the workhouse was pleasure enough

Draw those even lines

Share his peace of mind

As the artisan shines

He worked through the winter

Sweat, tears in the snow

He chiselled fine thoughts, secrets no one would know

His level of spirit was straight down the line

One line of the horizon was set in her name

Circles of beauty, like scrolls in the wood

Her skin smooth and steady, in the light where she stood

Draw those even lines

Share his peace of mind

As the artisan shines

Soaked up and sealed, varnish it stained

Painted and polished, with red-headed flames

A breath from the window was a blanket of warmth

To season a surface, furnish a new dawn

The craftsman of comfort, he cuts and he bleeds

Cold days in the forest, in the moonlight he dreams

Draw those even lines

Share his peace of mind

As the artisan shines