Today I lay awake trying to will myself to my chores, with a man whom I am not inspired by, with a child I have no motherly passion for I do today entertain my weary mind while I work with the song of the shirt.
With fingers weary and worn, With eyes heavy and red, A woman sits in unwomanly rags, Plying a needle and thread, In poverty hunger and dirt, She lifts her head and sings the song of the shirt
“Work Work Work
While the cock is crowing in the dawn on the roof
and Work Work Work
Till the stars shine on the roof
To this life I […]