WHEN MOTHER SPINS

He slips away from the children playing
Deaf to their laughter and treble call
For a rhythm draws him where white hands swaying
Turn a spinning wheel trellis-tall.

And a gracious figure steps a measure
Subtler far than a patterned dance,
While her fingers guide the twisted treasure
Around the spindle's bare expanse.

High over head her arm is winging
Low it sweeps to the swift wheel's whirr,
While ever and ever her voice is singing
To the worshipping boy at the feet of her.

Faith Van Valkenburgh Vilas

From Leaves from an Old Diary, The Drummer of Fyvie & other Verse
by Faith Van Valkenburgh Vilas 1926



back          contents           next