Song of the Shirt

With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat, in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and threadStitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt.""Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work work work, Till the stars shine through the roof! It's Oh! to be a slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work!"Work work work Till the brain begins to swim; Work work work Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream!"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear! Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch stitch stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt.But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear its terrible shape, It seems so like my own It seems so like my own, Because of the fasts I keep; Oh, God! that bread should be so dear, And flesh and blood so cheap!"Work work work! My Labour never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread and rags. That shatter'd roof and this naked floor A table a broken chair And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank For sometimes falling there!"Work work work! From weary chime to chime, Work work work! As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Seam, and gusset, and band, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd, As well as the weary hand."Work work work, In the dull December light, And work work work, When the weather is warm and bright While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the spring.Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal!Oh! but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, But only time for Grief! A little weeping would ease my heart, But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread!"With fingers weary and worn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat in unwomanly rags, Plying her needle and thread Stitch! stitch! stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the Rich! She sang this "Song of the Shirt!"

haiku

The Rose

Donna Brock

The red blossom bends

and drips its dew to the ground.

Like a tear it falls

Wine and Water

Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale, He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail, And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale, But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail, And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine, "I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine." The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink, The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink, And Noah he cocked his eye and said, "It looks like rain, I think, The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine, But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine." But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod, Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod, And you can't get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod, For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God, And water is on the Bishop's board and the Higher Thinker's shrine, But I don't care where the water goes if it doesn't get into the wine.

Standing by

All the way
.Here to help you through your day.
Holding you up,
When you are weak,
Helping you find what it is you seek.C
atching your tears,
When you cry.
Pulling you through when the tide is high.
Just being there,
Through thick and thin,
All just to say,
you are my friend.

The Miracle Of Friendship

There is a miracle called Friendship
that dwells within the heart
and you don't know how it happens
or when it even starts
.But the happiness it brings you
always gives a special lift
and you realize that Friendshipis
God's most precious gift.

Friends

A friend is someone we turn to

when our spirits need a lift.

A friend is someone we treasurefor our friendship is a gift.

A friend is someone who fills our lives

with beauty, joy, and grace.

A Special World

A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot seeIt wraps us up in its cocoonAnd holds us fiercely in its womb.
Its fingers spread like fine spun goldGently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fastBonds like this are meant to last.
And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strongIn a special world, where we belong.