She lies bent over for hours spinning. She weaves here. She mends there.
He made this machine his life. On this wheel he created his family. And the ticking of the needle stitched himself together.
How many times have I seen tears well up in your eyes, slowly turning into cufflinks? Perhaps the most beautiful ever sewn on.
Take out the thread. Focus on the eye of the needle. Close your left eye. Wet the end of the thread, but just the very tip. Zap!, the thread will pass through in one go. Soon the ticking will begin again.
In the patchwork quilts, the crocheted embroidery, the satin ribbons, the finishing touches on the garments, your heart will race with every beat.
She girds her hips with the ruler and her hands with pins. She goes to take the measurements. She binds her tears in the clothes so that they may clothe not only the king, but the vagabond as well.