They called themselves THE SEWING CIRCLE,
Though none of them could sew,
A prestigious little group,
Well, at least, they all thought so.
Probably formed with good intentions,
Which had long since disappeared,
But now presently equated to
Braying creatures with long ears.

Their membership determined by
Thoughtless observation,
With final judgment based upon
Wealth and education.
Exclusive?  Oh my, yes!
Difficult to qualify?
Were ladies flattered to be asked?
Would they rather join or die?

Those left out sometimes felt bad,
Though others smiled and laughed,
They had better things to do
Than sit on the phone and yak.
Not that conversation's bad,
It depends on subject matter,
And THE SEWING CIRCLE, so it seems,
Spent all their time in idle chatter.

Their title was a subterfuge,
To ease their conscience - cover shame,
A joke, they thought, upon outsiders,
Who, in truth, just snickered at their name.
Gossiping was their past-time
They reveled in spreading dirt,
Not caring that their unkind talk
Caused others pain and hurt.

As pillars of the community,
They were proper, model souls,
Alone, each one was weak,
But collectively, quite bold.
What foolishness.  What silliness.
What a total waste.
They could not sew on buttons,
Nor could they even baste.

And truly, in the scheme of things,
As accusers and abusers,
They became endeared to no one,
And were complete and total losers.
No one cares they couldn't sew,
But they need to do some mending,
Else-wise when that trumpet blows,
Their's won't be a happy ending.

The SEWING CIRCLE in the sky,
I doubt, will ask them in,
Those members really sow, you know,
And their seeds are genuine.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright July 2002



Background MIDI file playing is courtesy of Melody Lane.