Poems (Storrie)/Some and Some
Some and Some.
Some sit in the sun and spin Threads very fine and thin, And they are heavy-hearted, If this strand should be parted, Or that one run awry By the flicker of an eye. They weave their threads so frail Into a flimsy veil That hangs between their senses, and the real universe And in the fingers of the spinner The threads grow ever finer, thinner, Too thin to bear the burden of a blessing or a curse. And still they sit aloof, And wrap them in the woof Of the fabric they have spun. Ay, some sit in the sun And spin. Oh! God, am I one?
And some sit in the shade That want and sin have made, And fight for very breath With forces worse than death. Real, ah! very real A re the horrors that they feel, Doomed to toil's consuming altars, Strangled by prenatal halters. Fed for death by tainted blood Jetsam of the human flood! Perishing like summer flies Amid their own unheeded cries. Ay! some sit in the shade That want and sin hath made. And some sit in the sun and spin Threads very fine and thin.