She held herself together with a stitch,
a disposable thread
for one day only.
At night in her bedroom
she pulled and unpicked
and she prepared her needle for tomorrow.
She used one stitch a day,
with no wasted thread
until the cotton reel ran out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
its mystic but it's good...i can feel something....