Hymn to the Shroud of Toil

and the shroud was started with a steady rhythm, back and forth - neverending, or so it seemed. The incessant toil known instinctively and understood by women whose strands must to be kept orderly lest they unravel and escape. Back and forth. Back and forth. Again and again the generations follow as each shroud is completed with the knowledge of common threads. She moved once more across the room ‘did you know’, she asked the boy , ‘that ants sleep standing up?’