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Dave Bonta
In the morning to see a general
hanged, drawn and quartered,
his head and heart shown to the people,
great shouts of joy sure
to come shortly to the Lord.
Home, where I was angry with my wife
and kicked the basket I bought her
in Holland and broke it.
All afternoon setting up shelves.
Restless needle, where my beads
Whip with colour, roll like seeds.
Dive, and pick up one and one.
One and one till we are done;
And fasten each one firm and true
Where the pattern tells you to —
One and one, and one and one.
One and one, and one and one —
Flying needle, as you run.
As you pick up the lobes of light
Mind you guide each sparkle right;
Mind this tawny brown you choose,
Shading it with light wood hues,
When you shape the curving rim
Of this great basket, on whose brim
Heap the designated green.