Within an isolated place,
There lives an isolated face,
With hooded eyes, a gentle grin,
A florid nose and autumn skin.

His company are two fat cats,
A dog who lays by wood-stove vats.
He sits surrounded by his tools,
Creating incandescent jewels.

Labradorite's glinting hue,
An interplay of green and blue,
Frolic in the light of day
Within the hewn forms on display.

Old tins adorn the window sill,
An eagle looks on, quiet and still,
As beauty unfolds from his hands
To mould his labradorite bands.

He whittles at a face of stone,
With skill that's taken years to hone.
He polishes, then takes his file
And underneath he carves John Guile.

Within this isolated place,
There lives an isolated face,
With shying eyes, a wizened pair,
Which mask an ornamental flair.