Threading Needles

Seven sit threading needles by candlelight

their eyes dark, their hands in shadow

moving with the flame, the dripping wax

whispering as with one voice of things hidden

The tapestry they weave grows longer with the night

and they watch out the window

waiting for first light to break over the hills

hoping it will be too weak to chase away the shadows

too dim to cast silhouettes of their souls

Tax the rich or eat the rich, the choice is yours.

Photo by amirali mirhashemian on Unsplash

7 thoughts on “Threading Needles

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