mender of soles

He sits at his makeshift table on the corner

surrounded by simple tools,

and his day's work.

And I always try, as I ride past on the jeepney, to catch a glimpse,

or to catch a photo.

I can't do him justice.

Day after day he sits there,

earning the day's wage, plying his craft, 

repairing worn shoes (and suitcases, it appears!)

"a mender of bad soles...a surgeon to old shoes" 

(Shakespeare) 

A reminder of the One Who quietly, faithfully plies His craft,

restoring my soul.

(Psalm 23:3)