Saturday, 21 August 2010



I spend my time weaving,
alone at the loom.
Trying to make a fabric
to cover up my gloom.
But the more I weave,
the more it unravels,
yet on an on the shuttle goes
on its pointless travels.

My life is made of threads
that seem to fray and break
and mostly I find
I just weave for weavings sake.
I know my fabric is threadbare,
it doesn’t amount to a lot,
but I make the best of what I have
because it’s all I’ve got.

© 2003

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