I don’t know which I care for more:
The sewing machine on the shelf
Or my starving piggy bank.

All the different settings
Sing songs with lyrics
That are in a different language

And when the sun sets
And the wind blows
The designer must know, too,
That the machine is still there.
It remains still,
Never disturbing the Earth.
It is a sewing machine
And it does not grow up to be like its father

Trying to escape harsh criticism.
The sewing machine befriends the boy.
A gust of wind
And the boy wipes away his black tears.
The back of his hand is damp along with his pink nails.
He knows that friendships last forever.

It stares at me.
I look the other way.
I know, I know, I know.
They call me crazy,
But a day soon to come:
This sewing machine may be one of my masters.

Money is everything.
She’d rather spend her life savings
Then take a chance on being frugal.
Take a chance with the sewing machine.