The twin axes danced in wind,as the butcher started dancing..
Seldom did he pick up the axes,seldom did he dance,in tune of death..
But a touch on the child,whose smile was the brightest,
It made him snap,from the coldest freeze..
No matter who stands infront,at that moment,
To touch the twin flowers of the butcher means,you deserve a round of applause..
He smiled brightly and moved..
Behind him lied the piles of bones..
He was a butcher afterall..
Fineness was his duty..
And the piles of bones told that quite vividly..
