Songwriter, guitarist and composer
Seamstress/Nothing to Write Home About
A song written for and about my mother, a single mother keeping everything sewn together with very little help or money.
The seamstress plied her needle for neither thanks or fame
and, though fabric may have frayed, buttons never fell too far.
Mended, cleaned and folded with never two the same
but odd was always insubstantial reason to discard.
She said 'I'll never pull the thread from those continental shows,
I don't court the great designers – I'm not tall enough to pose,
but I'll wrap you up like no one else with labels never out.
Here's everything you'll ever need but I’ve nothing to write home about.
Every pot and pan brimmed over with a day-shift's worth of pride
No frill or fancies present with the must-haves there amassed
With little more than flint, fire and mettle that defied the laws of science
every meal she served broke some unspoken fast.
She said 'I won't win any stars or have them queueing in their droves
I don't care for rules of what one eats with red or white or rose
but, though you may arrive unfed, you'll never go without.
Here's everything you'll ever need but nothing to write home about.
The gathering shadows of time conspired to shroud the facing hill,
the passing star grew cold and detail slid from sight
but, though her vision faltered,she could gauge the setting still
and for one so close to the ground no other viewed from such a height.
She said 'I don't have breath to scale what youth takes in its stride.
I don't seek out peaks to conquer – bragging always bows to pride,
but I've a lifetime's map of tracks that you can trust when lights go out.
Here's everything you'll ever need but I’ve nothing to write home about.
Written by Del Scott Miller
Mobile: 07988775994
Mobile: 07988775994 | Email Del Scott Miller