The Chairmaker’s Soul – part 2

A Red the lurid shade of rotten roses dyes

Bloody the sun’s sinking skies above wind swept dock streets,

Dreaming lazedly about curious shoppes along lanes twistingly followed,

And what rode in on strange winds brought from sleepy seas.
Amongst their draughty alleys he made

Enquiries of all craft purveyors wizened

Or young, with their secret sigils

Or those particular altar finneals.
No joy there among those odd stores

Of needful things and biscuits buttered,

By knives far sharper than want sheepish spirits

Of mortality, grown and mortally breeding.

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