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Poem by Hazel Hall
Here are old things: Fraying edges, Ravelling threads; And here are scraps of new goods, Needles and thread, An expectant thimble, A pair of silver-toothed scissors. Thimble on a finger, New thread through an eye; Needle, do not linger, Hurry as you ply. If you ever would be through Hurry, scurry, fly! Here are patches, Felled edges, Darned threads, Strengthening old utility, Pending the coming of the new. Yes, I have been mending Е But also, I have been enacting A little travesty on life.
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