He sits,
spinning golden
stories into the
air.
Warm, like
a blanket in
front of a
blazing fire, and
just as comforting.
Stories of magic
and delight
and love and
every other
fantastical,
spectacular thing.
His spinning wheel
is well-loved,
his loom waits patiently,
to weave
his golden stories
into fabric
to cling to
on a cold
winter's night.
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