Hazel Hall

Late Hours

Crowds are passing on the street,
Tuck on tuck and pleat on pleat
Of people hurrying along,
Homeward bound, throng on throng.
Their work is finished, mine undone;
Still my stitches run.

I cannot watch the people go,
Fold on fold and row on row;
But I know each pulsing tread
Is spinning out a life’s fine thread;
I know the stars, like needle-gleams,
Are pricking through the sky’s wide seams;
And soon the moon must show its face,
Like a pearl button stitched in place.
All the long hours of the day
Are finished now and folded away;
Yet the hem is still undone
Where my stitches run.