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Embroidery ©

Joe Sharp
Stra'ven, Scotland

In the parlour, pitch of night, aware of flickering candlelight
Silhouettes, ghosts in black, haunting memories flooding back
Wedding bells, angels singing. Blacksmith’s hammer anvil ringing
Gone my treasury of wealth, your's in sickness as in health

'Needle, Needle, sewing thread, one more stitch then off to bed'

My earthly indiscretions’ ghost, winging home its claws to roost
Upon a cross, upon a lair, upon a once upon a love affair
Those cruel deceptions, evil eyes, assured to be the truest lies
An angry word, a steely stare, a wishing you were never there

'Needle, Needle, sewing thread, one more stitch then off to bed'

With drunken fits of bitter rage, in life, recurring page by page
The open window of my soul, for all to see, as black as coal
A Shylock with a hoard of gold, all for me, when I grow old
As for she who sits and sews, the less she sees, the less she knows

'Needle, Needle, sewing thread, one more stitch then off to bed'

All laid out amid the gloom, a shadow in the funereal room
Bending low to kiss my brow, a silent whisper, graceful bow
'Needle, Needle, sewing thread, one last stitch now, you are dead'
No more need of earthly riches, shrouded in a merriment of stitches

'Needle, Needle, let it be, I’m going on a shopping spree.'

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