Author Hazel Hall Cut a little openingAnd overcast it, then(Throwing the thread across each stitch)Stitch it round again.A moment's stitching finds itFinished; but not untilThe sun has burned its beauty outAnd dropped behind the hill. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 4 (1 vote) Rate Log in or register to post comments