I Sit And Sew

I sit and sew — a useless task it seems,
my hands grow tired, my head weighed down with dreams,
the parodies of war, the many tired men,
grim-faced, gazing upon their kin,
whose eyes have not seen death.
They’ve learned to hold their lives as breath —
But — I must sit and sew.

I sit and sew — my heart aches with desire —
and looks on wasted fields, and the writing
of men who once were
appearing in cities, and yearning to go.
Now they look on fields of woe.
But — I must sit and sew.

The little useless seam; the idle patch;
I dream hear beneath my quilted blanket,
While there they lie in mud and rain,
And — I must sit and sew.

(Ballad format)

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