The old Singer stands in the corner waiting,
legs still slim and pretty, veneer still holding,
though the years have left their scars.
And sometimes I let her sing again,
let her merrily ‘chat-chat-chat-chat-chat’
as we pass the cloth back and forth,
like old times.
But yesterday I sat with threaded needle and
quietly sewed by hand.
She seems to sleep more now a days,
in her corner, on her slim and pretty legs.