Rests a small independent toy shop,
It still stands today,
Although its name has changed through the years.
Back when it opened,
It was not very popular.
The old man and woman that ran it,
A husband and wife team,
Tried their very best to bring in custom,
But despite the carefully crafted toys,
Made by the old man,
And despite the passionately painted toys,
Decorated by the old woman,
Nobody stopped in to buy.
In one last attempt,
The couple crafted their most wonderful toy,
That had ever graced their shelves.
The old man tirelessly twisted wood,
Trimmed and tapered,
Until he had finally formed,
A little clown doll.
The old woman beautifully brushed,
Blobbed and bathed,
Until she had daintily decorated,
The little clown doll.
With a winder and musical tune,
That played as it turned,
So that the coil coiled,
And the clown doll popped out.
They place him in the shop window,
And went to bed that night,
Cuddled up with their hopes,
That the toy would bring them trade.
Through the night,
Snow began to fall.
It settled softly.
From the fluffy white ground,
Emerged a tiny elf,
Who had somehow fallen from the skies,
Along with the flurry,
And was now buried,
Somewhat in the snow.
He made his way to the window,
And saw the delightful little toy,
Half popped out of his box,
To draw attention.
It had drawn his attention,
Captured it.
But the elf didn’t like the fact,
That such a joyous creation,
Seemed so lifeless.
He placed his hands on the glass,
A warmth diffused,
And brought the little clown doll to life.
The doll looked around,
Unaware of his elf observer.
He pulled himself along the floorboards,
And over to the train tracks.
As the clown placed his hand on the toy,
Curious as to what it was,
The train came to life,
And began to puff out smoke,
Chugging aloud,
As it travelled around.
The elf clapped and smiled.
The doll looked around,
Still unaware of his magical friend.
He pulled himself up and over the shelves,
And plonked next to a carousel.
As the clown placed his hand on the toy,
Intrigued by what it might be,
The carousel came to life,
And began to turn and rotate,
Tooting its melody,
As it span elegantly.
This continued all night,
More and more toys coming to life,
And the elf simply clapped,
Chortled and danced,
At such a magnificent show.
Before the morning broke,
The elf disappeared on his way,
But the active toys remained.
Their noise and motion,
Caused a group of children to huddle,
Dragging their parents to watch on.
The old man and old woman were stunned,
Gazing at not only the incredible event,
Taking place in their shop,
But the fantastic queue of parents and their sprogs,
Desperate to buy one of the wonderful toys.
That day, they sold everything,
Each and every toy they had,
Bar one…
They kept the little clown,
And told him he was so special,
That he would stay with them forever.
He sat in the workshop,
And every time the old man made,
And every time the old woman painted,
He would touch the toys,
And bring them to life.
It is rumoured that the shop,
Was passed on through the family,
An heirloom of sorts,
And for every member of the family,
That took charge,
Received a lovely painted box,
Decorated beautifully,
With a winder that turned,
A tune that sang as it span,
So that the legacy of the toy shop,
And it’s magical masterpieces,
Could continue forever and ever.