Fingers knowingly moving, moulding and shaping.
Pulling and prodding, weaving and stitching
Almost hypnotically performing a dance to a song that is just being written.
Gnawed fingers with crevices formed at the tips, cuts and nips; evidence of repetition, multiplication but not much appreciation.
Needles klinking, rubbing, chatting over a cup of tea.
Conversation going, stopping-starting over and under each other
Letting nothing but sleep and yarn get in their way.
All this time. ALL this time, this toiling, this growing beauty’s being crafted, moulded and perfected.
Laid out on the sunken bed to be admired from this angle and that.
Taken outside to be seen in the light.
Beautiful? Yes, very beautiful.
Each knot, head and stitch reflecting
Life being poured in and sacrificed for this beauty.
Rolled up, folded, packed into a
Checkas packet to be placed at the feet of the world that walk by slowly.
Often stopping to ooooohhh and aaahhh
At these lived pieces.
Picking up these lives and appreciating the beauty but only with their
With their taxes come lots of praise till the
Value is requested.
Oh!? That much?! I’ve seen better and paid less!
The life then returned and lowered, once again, to reality.
Not worth it. Her life is not worth it.
Her time not worthy of the paper in their pockets.
Ok, she will take the coins instead.
The trade is quick yet the dance so long.
The music so beautiful as it was written and continued to sing.
From the ground the song continues to rise, continues to away from colour to colour, hypnotizing the
Giving strength to her beautiful hands to keep crafting that beauty.