Restless needle, where my beads
Whip with colour, roll like seeds,
Dive and pick up one and one,
One and one till we are done;
And fasten each one firm and true
Where the pattern tells you to –
One and one, and one and one.
One and one, and one and one –
Flying needles, as you run,
As you pick up the lobes of light
Mind you guide each sparkle right;
Mind this tawny brown you choose,
Shading it with light wood hues,
When you shape the curving rim
Of this great basket, on whose brim
Heap the designated green,
From new-leaf shades to laurel’s sheen.
Then with dawn-pinks and heavy reds
Paint the drowsy roses’ heads.
Let dreamy mauves and tones of brass,
And bits of blue in mosaic mass,
Speak for the tints of timid bloom
Which share the shadows’ checkered gloom . . .
Hours, flowers, hours . . .