Thread on a table
The old lady sleeps in a chair
The lamp is dim
Lace ties the curtains
The scissors dangle from a hatch
The tea's gone cold
In her china cup
The cat's curled up by the fire
Behind the door
A persistent sleep
She keeps a lifetime locked away
Her mother's voice
That goes through the past
She cuts the roses to the ground
A book is closed
Her mouth slightly open
The floorboards creak in the hall
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