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
Copyright © Jerry Hackett | Year Posted 2018
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