Cobbler and Priest

Those little leather shoes,
I made by my hands,
Hard work it had been to form,
My fingers at times bled…hard word pays off…

The shoes you wear, I made with my toil,
I am a cobbler, so be I,
My work is my duty,
Never did I complain,

Yet there he stays, in that God’s graced place,
Recites those prayers and the hymns,
He washes his people’s sin,
But never did my…holy soul he is.

Yet he wears, those shoes I make,
But never ere to touch me…shake my hands,
He would be sinned…
Had he touched, a cobbler’s skin.

So I stay away from him,
Or he does so, I never know,
Holy Spirit, is he pure?
Untouched me, am I sinned?

Those little shoes,
I make by my hands,
He wears those of my pairs,
But never ere to touch me on my skin,
he would be sinned,
had he touched a cobbler’s skin,
Priest and Cobbler,
Cobbler and Priest,
These humanly relations,
Never does exist.