The Spinner's Three

If you already know the fairy tale of the three spinners, then you are good to go. If not, here is a rundown. There once was a girl who lived with a cruel mother. A good queen came and took the girl away, provided the girl would become a spinner for her and make some thread for cloth. The girl hated spinning though. Three old women came to her rescue, one had a large foot from operating the treadle, one had a large lip from licking the thread, one had a gnarled thumb from tensioning the thread. They agreed to spin the flax into thread for the girl if she would invite them to her wedding with the prince. She agreed and they were invited to the wedding. The prince was horrified when he saw what spinning had done to them and declared that his beautiful young bride would never be allowed to spin again. In the interest of full disclosure, I used AI to make this. The words are mine. Lyrics The moon hung low on the window glass And the flax lay pale as snow The wheel sat still in the candlelight With nowhere left to go My mother's voice was a raven's cry My tears fell soft and thin For mountains of unspun silver thread Were piled upon the floor within Turn, little wheel Turn for the dead Turn for the women With the twisted thread One with a foot broad as a graveyard stone One with a lip worn long One with a thumb like a knotted root Singing the spinning song They came one night through the misty lane Bent beneath the stars Wrapped in shawls of faded black And old forgotten scars The first one smiled with a crooked grin The second laughed like rain The third one touched the sleeping wheel And set it turning again Turn, little wheel Turn through the gloom Turn for the sisters Who labor the loom One with a foot broad as a riverbank One with a lip pulled low One with a thumb shaped by a thousand years Of twisting thread below Round and round The spindle cried Round and round The years went by Youth to age And bone to dust Thread to cloth And cloth to rust Who spins the flax? Who spins the fate? Who waits smiling Outside the gate? The wedding bells rang cold and bright In a hall of gold and white The prince looked down from his shining throne Upon that strange old sight "My dear aunts," said the bride with care And she bid them take their place The court grew pale when the candlelight Revealed each weathered face Turn, little wheel No more for me The prince has broken Your sorcery For he has seen what the years can do To the hand and foot and bone And I shall dance while the moon burns white And leave the wheel alone The flax grows pale in the midnight field The spindle gathers dust And somewhere three old women laugh Among the drifting mist