Embroidery in childhood was a luxury of idleness
A coil of silken thread giving dreams of a silk and satin life
Now my broidery affords the clue whose meaning we avoid!
My hands remembered its old skill
Those stitches tell a curious tale
I remember I was brooding
On the fantasies of children
And dreamt that only by wishing
I could bring some silk into their lives
Now my broidery affords the clue whose meaning we avoid