The bell chimes ring, the hinges squeak and foot steps cross the floor.
To the shelves with mystic wares, and then back out the door.
They come to buy, and some to sell, and some just look around.
They never see the artist there with a face that never frowns.
A crystal glass, a silver plate with stories left untold.
A wooden desk, a large brass lamp, what secrets do they hold?
There she sits so quietly, so patiently she waits.
Her mind's at ease, her spirit rests, but still she contemplates.
The dragon died, the knight survived, if she was only then.
The bell chimes ring, the hinges squeak, it starts once more again.
