Dirty and sooty, the old Chimney Sweep dragged his tired feet along the dusty gravel. He was exhausted. His face black as night, hands sore and eyes stinging from the musty dust. He arrived at his door hungry and weak, dreading the next day, when he’d have to go through the same routine.
The next morning he awoke. He suited and booted, shoved his hat on, grabbed his brushes and was off-no breakfast, no nothing, he was too poor to buy food.
The old soul arrived and got to work. After a slow hour had passed by, the sweep was again black as soot, weak and tired….he carried on. his throat was clogged with dust, and his lungs were black, black with soot.
He was on his bed of blankets, and coughed and spluttered, he was down and wasn’t able to help himself
Months past and he was worse than ever. His time had past.