No sewing machines, or accessories,
still made from hand, bent down
on their knees.

Furs and pelts, lay across the ground.
With

My hands outstretch to take the gift,
From my loving daughter
A card of love she has made,
With the paints, I bought her,

Her

I like to make things with my hands

It makes me so very happy

To see things that I once made

Such beautiful and lovely

Those as do.

Those bruises on her pretty heart,
and on her sprightly glow,
have pushed her soul to fall apart,
to still her

Purpose

The rocking chair sits in his workshop
Illuminated by a beam of light
Which enters through means of its own
To find