This is where I've gotten to by end of stitching today. The next time I stitch something on black, I don't think I'll use linen again. The inconsistency in the thickness of the threads is very off-putting so I think I will stick to black Lugana or another one of the even weaves where the threads are the same size.
Elegy for Jane
I remember the neckcurls, limp and damp as tendrils;
And her quick look, a sidelong pickered smile;
And how, once startled into talk, the light syllables leaped for her.
And she balanced in the delight of her thought,
A wren, happy, tail into the wind,
Her song trembling the twigs and small branches.
The shade sang with her;
The leaves, their whispers turned to kissing,
And the mould sang in the bleached valleys under the rose.
Oh, when she was sad, she cast herself down into such a pure depth,
Even a father could not find her:
Scraping her cheek against straw,
Stirring the clearest water.
My sparrow, you are not here,
Waiting like a fern, making a spiny shadow.
The sides of wet stones cannot console me;
Nor the moss, wound with the last light.
If only I could nudge you from this sleep,
My maimed darling, my skittery pigeon.
Over this damp grave I speak the words of my love:
I, with no rights in this matter,
Neither father nor lover.
Theodore Roethee
1908 - 1963
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