I will stitch and stitch again,
but I won’t sing.
This thread unravels and fusses
itself when I try to make little
The way you taught me,
always in song. First
wet it with your tongue…
after you clear your throat.
Then the younger eye will knot
but you will save my clothes
and my soul, and all those who hear:
“Alleluia, what a Saviour! Alleluia! Amen!
The Redeemer has come. The Redeemer has come.”
I couldn’t sew before.
One day I might sing Alleluia.