Twas the month after Christmas, and all through the Shop.
Not a jeweler was stirring, in a chair he had flopped.
The shop is a mess, and the bench is a clutter.
“I can’t find a thing,” the bench jeweler muttered.
When out in the store there arose such a clatter. He sprung from his bench to see what was the matter. Away to the front, he flew from the shop. Knocked over his lunch, and spilled soda pop. Then, what to his wondering eyes should appear? But from the refiner a container, Oh Dear! What a wonderful time to clean-up the shop. Now, where in the world did he put the mop? More rapid than eagles he flew. Cleaning the shop was his job to do. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his chore. He let no one disturb him by shutting the door. In all the dirt that lay on the floor. Was silver, gold, platinum and more. The filings, and polishings, and such. It all has great value, though it don't look like much. Laying a finger aside of the broom. He swept up the dirt from the entire room. To the top of the bench, then on to the wall. Now sweep away! Sweep away! Sweep away all! Then on to the polisher, down into its deeps. He brushed to gather all of the sweeps. By the time he had finished, from his head to his foot. His clothes were all dirty with what looked to be soot. The sweeps were all gathered, the job was complete. The envelopes were filed, everything looked real neat. The tools were all hung on the bench with care. When they are needed, he'll know they are there. The shop is now done, the sweeping concluded. Organizing the tools was even included. The gold was all packaged and sent to the refiner. Now, Profits will increase, Oh what could be finer.
Bradney W. Simon