Saturday, 24 September 2016
Alas poor sewing box
A button here, a name tag there, the effort of threading a needle a thousand times; and now, how wistful in my imagination it is! My eyes blink in surprise at it.
Here it hangs that lid that seemed never to want to stay shut. Full to overflowing with who knows what. Where be your scissors now? your odds and ends? your flashes of colour that were wont to set me thinking of socks lost long ago?
Not one now, to mock us any longer, by falling out the cupboard as soon as it opened. As if to say, I am still here? Of course, now play with me?
Now let me to my lady's chamber, and tell her, it has come to this, let her paint a smile an inch, nay a foot thick, for I foresee of this she will be greatly relieved, nay released!
Posted by Stephen Sellers at 15:00