The Pinner

Hour after hour the pinner sits in her room Coiling and honing, she works in the gloom She works with an aching even spring can't dispel The best in the county, all but one she will sell Each day she runs at the setting of the sun With a hope in her heart as the shadows grow long To the chapel she goes, past the fields and the barn And she offers the stone the best of her charms Day after day she takes brass wire and bone Coiling and honing she works on alone She works with a fever, as the seasons they spin Each day she's hoping for that one perfect pin Each day she runs at the setting of the sun With a hope in her heart as the shadows grow long To the chapel she goes, past the fields and the barn And she offers the stone the best of her charms Year after year the pinner grows old Failing eyesight and fingers, her pins go unsold Her pins go unsold and they fill up that room Filling bottles and boxes as the copper turns blue Each day she walks at the setting of the sun With a hope in her heart as the shadows grow long To the chapel she goes, past the fields and the barn And she offers the stone the last of her charms