Small bits of fibre spindled by a pin
The girl whispers in fret, not knowing how to begin
The room is disordered, and her mind is stuck
She could not comprehend her luck
A ball of wool, a couch of needles
A yard of grass swarmed with beetles
Endless nights and shortened days
Colored threads and beads in trays
Her measuring tape is a forbidden maze
with a careful smile and timid gaze
Laboured patterns tossed in bins
Her patience is wearing thin
Dusk comes and falls once over
Bright eyes begin to lower
A perfect fit for anyone really
Clouded thoughts call her silly
Who would ever believe
What was beneath her sleeve?
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Author:
Bren (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 18th, 2024 12:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
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