At the Wave of a Flag and the Sew of a Needle

My hands move methodically

Like I’ve done many times before.

This time is different, it’s history

I push and pull the needle more.

Push and pull of the wooden boxes

Filled with oppression and tea,

Tossed into the sea.

Nervously moving with instinct, O Christ!

Blood is beading up on the pad of my finger.

Time to take a break for my tryst

With the outdoors, even though the pain will linger.

Pain from a love lost.

Suffering at the bayonets’ end

Is better than the Reds’ hand.

Five stars, thirteen stars

Which one will unite

How many horizontal bars

Will give the Regulars a fright

Rhythmic stomping of hooves.

One if by land, Two if by sea

Blurs of lanterns passed by me

Upon my return, I sit in my chair

When I hear knocking at my door.

The General, a Father, and my dear are there

I wonder what’s in store.