The Key Maker

The key maker seated himself,
On a tiny corner in a lonely road
As others greeted the new vendor,
Few were warm but most were cold.

He spread out his workspace,
The one he carried everywhere
And put up a lousy sign
Which attracted those in despair.

In despair were those forgetful ones
The ones who had a hard time recalling
Who could never trace their steps back
To find out where the keys had fallen

There was also another kind
The ones who were sent by often
Mostly by those, mentioned formerly
Who also dropped by, for no reason

To them, he was a storyteller
Who often wrapped along with his keys
A few words for them to ponder upon
Opening unexpected doors, without a lease.

Unlike the other vendors on the street,
The key maker did not gloat about
For he did not make enough money
To even think about those with all the clout

His regular visitors though,
Wondered why such was the case
For he had so much to talk about
But he seemed to be indifferent, in no haste


The key maker was the only source of joy
In a lonely street filled with selfish sellers
The only one who shaped not only keys
But also the dreams of their dwellers