Her Thread

Sewing machine, long idle, gathered dust A willing victim to time’s soft crust Dulled sergeant stripes lay on the floor Fading remnants from a worldly war This old, now lifeless, bricked in room Is now but a capsule, her timeless tomb Her future and dreams enjoined in fight It's here she threaded her rifle each night The war years seemed like only yesterday Still, both them and her have gone away Yet here in this room Mom's candle does glow It's here in this room she labored so Her faint initials still etched in the rust Beside her machine she is frozen in dust That wonderful lady and her vanishing mark The candle sputtered, spent, and all was dark