Category : Poems

Sub Category : N/A

In the quiet hum of the sewing room,
Where fabric whispers and patterns bloom,
A tailor weaves a tale with thread,
Stitch by stitch, the needle treads.

With every snip and careful seam,
A garment takes shape, a tailor's dream.
A tapestry of colors bright,
Sewn with passion, sewn just right.

The thimble guards, the pins align,
The fabric cut from a drawn design.
A roll of cloth, now draped and pinned,
Transforms to art from where it's been.

The sewing machine, a trusty steed,
Guides the cloth with rhythmic speed.
A leg-pumped rhythm, steady, sure,
Crafting beauty that will endure.

A pin cushion bristling like a hedge,
Holds fast the tools along the edge.
And there, a pattern paper lies,
Blueprints for fashion in disguise.

A spool of thread, a heart's delight,
In hues that chase away the night.
A fabric roll, a thimble's kiss,
In this small world of sewing bliss.

So here's to clothes, to the tailor's art,
To the hands that make from a simple start.
For in each stitch, a story's told,
In threads of silver, threads of gold.