1st Edit
Out of the sound of the weaving shed
workers vexed from thoughts of debt and lay-offs,
end their shift and surge onto the cotton-bailed yard.
Her bloom came to me like a crisp breeze blown,
A sprite-elfin swagger and head held high.
Her eyes hid what her mouth would never utter.
By the thousands, Men die in god’s name.
Yet in her he dares to create such beauty.
Original
Out of the sound of the weaving shed, workers
vexed from thoughts of debt and lay-offs;
end shift and surge onto their cotton-bailed yard
Her bloom came to me like a crisp breeze blown,
sprite-elfin swagger and head held high.
Her eyes hid pain her mouth would never utter
By the thousands, Men die in god’s name
Yet he dares to create such beauty
I was inspired by a sarah teasdale poem
Out of the sound of the weaving shed
workers vexed from thoughts of debt and lay-offs,
end their shift and surge onto the cotton-bailed yard.
Her bloom came to me like a crisp breeze blown,
A sprite-elfin swagger and head held high.
Her eyes hid what her mouth would never utter.
By the thousands, Men die in god’s name.
Yet in her he dares to create such beauty.
Original
Out of the sound of the weaving shed, workers
vexed from thoughts of debt and lay-offs;
end shift and surge onto their cotton-bailed yard
Her bloom came to me like a crisp breeze blown,
sprite-elfin swagger and head held high.
Her eyes hid pain her mouth would never utter
By the thousands, Men die in god’s name
Yet he dares to create such beauty
I was inspired by a sarah teasdale poem