Sometimes the skirts I push through my machine <br />Spread circlewise, strong petalled lobe on lobe, <br />And look for the rapt moment of a dream <br />Like Buddha's robe. <br />And I, caught up out of the workroom's stir <br />Into the silence of a different scheme, <br />Dream, in a sun-dark, templed otherwhere <br />His alien dream.<br /><br />Lesbia Harford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/buddha-in-the-workroom/
