The Circle of Life
The Circle of Life yabc1 stories
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yourstrulymaryz
yourstrulymaryzi'm thinking bout you | wattpadian
Autoplay OFF  •  6 months ago
History repeats itself, yes. But so does the grief that comes along with the times.

The Circle of Life

by yourstrulymaryz

Once upon a time,

On a snow capped mountain in the middle of somewhere,

Lived a woodworker,

And his little apprentice.

And every morning

Before the sun had even risen,

The woodworker would leave his warm bed,

To wake his apprentice, like a father would a son.

He would give him a gentle shake of the shoulder,

And take him to the workshop for a day of hard work, hoping that this son of his would grow up to be a humble, handsome man with a brighter future than this.

If the apprentice did good in the shop that day,

The woodworker would tell his little apprentice a story. It goes something like-

Once upon a time,

On a snow capped mountain in the middle of somewhere,

Lived an aging woodworker,

And his no longer little apprentice.

And every morning,

Before the sun had even risen,

The wood worker would leave his warm bed,

To stretch his aching shoulders, and then go wake up his apprentice like a father would a son.

He would give him a harder shake of the shoulder,

And take him to the workshop for a day of hard work, hoping that this son of his would grow up to be a humble, handsome man with a brighter future than this.

If the apprentice did good in the shop that day,

The woodworker would tell his apprentice a story. A story that the apprentice was growing quickly very wary of, but the woodworker didn't mind. In fact, it goes something like-

Once Upon a Time,

On a snow capped mountain in the middle of somewhere,

Lived an old woodworker,

And his almost grown-up apprentice.

And every morning,

Before the sun had even risen,

The old woodworker would struggle to get out of bed,

To stretch his aching shoulders, and then stumble over to wake up his apprentice like a father would a son.

He would drag his arm with a jerk,

And take him to the workshop for a day of hard work, hoping that this son of his would grow up to be a humble, handsome man with a brighter future than this.

If the apprentice did good in the shop that day,

The woodworker would tell his apprentice a story. A story that the apprentice found bland, but he respected the woodworker enough to listen. In fact, it goes something like-

Once Upon a Time,

On a snow capped mountain in the middle of somewhere,

Lived a tired woodworker,

And his apprentice.

And every morning,

Before the sun had even risen,

The woodworker would be asleep, dreaming of when he'd,

Stretch his aching shoulders, and then stumble over to wake up his apprentice like a father would a son.

Dreaming of when he'd,

Gently shake his son's shoulder, or shake his shoulder a bit harder, or give him a jerk of the arm when he refused to move.

If the apprentice did good in the shop that day,

The woodworker would not know, but he called over his son and told him a story anyway. It went something like-

Once Upon a Time,

On a snow capped mountain in the middle of somewhere,

Lived a woodworker with the memory of his loving father.

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