My mind my dome!

I sat nervously, fiddling with a needle. Dwelling on matters that have essence  beyond all this fiddle. Pondering no sword can play wheedle with a needle.  Since It's the only machine with a treadle.   I sew my ballroom dress under a candle.  Boring a hole between with a wimble.  Sewing the hemline with thread and needle. Holding the seam together despite all the struggle. Keeping my finger's on the  material. Spinning it's handle with trouble.  I realize it's time to replace the needle. As I sit throughout night sewing with thread and needle.  I could hear the morning roosters crowing.  Pricking up my ears  to my cows braying.  Along with my restless beagle too baying.  With that heavenly scent of freshly baked bagel.  Licking my  toes   in company of my feet h ere yawns my beagle.  With Floppy flapping ears and sagging jaws my naughty beagle. I sat with my scissors and thimble.  Adjusting the wim...