Three Seamstresses

The eyes red, the lips blue, not a drop of blood in the cheek. The foreheads pale, and feverish — three girls sit and sew.
The needle flashes, the linen — snowy; and one thinks: I sew and sew, I sew by day, I sew by night — no bridal dress have I made for myself! What is the use of my sewing?
I neither sleep nor eat ... I would donate to Meir The Miracle Man — Perhaps he would stand me in good stead. Even a widower, an old Jew with a bevy of children.
The second thinks: I sew and stitch, and only stitch me gray braids! The head burns, the temple throbs, and the machine rattles in accompaniment: ta-ta, ta-ta, ta-ta!
Well I understand people! Without a canopy, without a ring would there be a play, a dance, a love affair for an entire year. — But after, after?
The third one spits blood and meditates: I sew myself ill, I sew myself blind. The breast twitches at every stitch — and he is to marry this week! I wish him no ill luck!
Well, what's past is gone, forgotten ... A shroud will be given me by the community, and a tiny plot; I will rest undisturbed, I will sleep, sleep!
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Isaac Leibush Peretz
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