The Craftsman

With the skill of many years, his aged hands move, movement that years have made, fast and sure that when young, were slow and doubtful, and thought years of practice, when in each day he does again, the same moves as always before, and the same as tomorrows, and day by day his skills improve, although each movement may not be better than the last, in the passing of time, he improves in all, with his advancement in his skills, his work becomes better, and being better is worth more, till it becomes a thing of beauty, an article to live beyond its maker, to become of value with age, until it is priceless, a thing of art forever, to be looked upon as a ultimate, to be known long beyond, the death of the craftsman, the man who made it.