Classic Poem

Strong spirit of pure steel, from autumn's metal cast;
Incarnate body of power, slight and subtle, straight and sharp!
To pierce, then to enter gradually in, that is your nature;
Things far apart all strung into one, that is your task.

Only your ordered footprints, you wonderful needle and thread,
Attest the quantity, the variety, the universality of your work.
You retrace, you sway, you twist in your path to mend flaws,
Until the results resemble the pure wool of the lamb.

What measure or basket suffices to count the pieces of your work?
All, all together these are your memorials.
They are found in the village home;
They ascend into the stately hall.