Poem by Josephine Preston Peabody

The Masterpiece

My Mother cut it out for me,
And started it, so I could see;
And then she turned some edges in,
And let me take it to begin.
I made it. But I did not know
How very long it takes to sew.
I took a long time for that stitch;
And now it's there, I don't know which
Is better. But not one is small,
And they are not alike at all.
That side was very hard to fix.
And then, the needle always pricks:
But you must hold it, and take care,--
Because the point is always there;
And knots keep coming by and by;
And then, no matter how you try,
The thread comes out of its old eye!

   *   *   *   *   *

But some way, now I have it done,--
I think it is a Pretty One.

1. The Sorrows
2. Spinning in April
3. Church-Time
4. Chestnut Stands
5. Market

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