The Tailor

A tailor labors by candlelight,
gold rimmed glasses slipping
down his rosy nose. Outside,
wet snow bleeds from burnt sky.

Threadbare fingers, frail but firm,
feel fat folds of velvet while
discolored eyes glance at the mantle,
resenting those two brass hands,
those tyrannical sentries of old,
that won’t let him sleep.

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