Getting dressed, in chill before-dawn dark

One of those dull cold mornings, cursing,

I put my foot straight through a trouser turnup:

 

Now, my pants hang, sag, sadly over shoe,

Adding to my general dereliction -

A stitch in time was needed, ah yes

 

If only we knew, with perfect hindsight

The point where we should have stuck

The needle in, to intervene, to save

 

The need for later pins and needles

Pain jabbing – only a stitch, they say,

And you’ll soon run it off

 

A stitch in time saves nine; nine tailors makes a man,

Stitching surrounds us daily, like tapestry -

All of those needles, always waiting

 

Needles, sharp, fine, or hollow, hunting for a thread

But even caught in time, I do not think

There’s such a thing as invisible mending –

 

You rip what you sew; Euripides, Eumenides,

Your gentle “hem” is always ignored,

And life sharpens its needles, day by day

 

On worries worn as flat as rune-stones

Or pebbles in my shoe, the one that I stuck through

The web of cloth I tore by clumsiness

 

And so eventually, with the sense of an ending,

You’re forced to hunt the thimble, do your best

(In olden days, they’d sew you in a vest

 

each winter, underneath pincushion clouds)

Patches on patches, and hope your stitches hold,

Your needle swinging always to mag north

 

Follow it blindly on the rocks

And you may find they sew you into sailcloth,

The last stitch through your nose

 

I should watch where I put my feet

And tread more carefully: it’s always easier

To have a care, than try and mend a tear