In streets that are humming
With the city's stair . . .
Or where leaves fall rustling
Through the quiet air . . .
There are women knitting
Everywhere . . .

Knitting and waiting
Through hours like years -
Not with loud grieving
Nor sighing nor tears -
In their hands the needles
Flash like spears.

Every thread a sorrow,
Every strand a prayer -
('Oh, where sleeps my dear one?
Or how does he fare?')
There are women knitting
Everywhere . . .