“You ask me how I found myself mixed up between these weavers?
In a house in Rossendale, I lived the war of weavers:
In the manor of the handloom lord, I failed to see the pain
Of a worker who’d once lost himself to his profession’s strain.
I wish I’d caught my tongue—thought of my forebears in Bahrain!
Instead I said, “Who cares today? We’ve left behind these weavers.””
From Assorted Poems – included in the showcase