A somber woman really
Has no regrets
As she shuttles between daylight and night
Her loom true
Patterns familiar, intricate
Woven into the fabric of her existence
Here, in this room
She has watched the light upon her delicate hands
Slowly caress the nimbleness of age
Outdoors through the window
Children circle the tree of life
Occupied with the earths patient caress
As the day closes
As the garments are placed just so on the chair
As she soothes her hands and spirit
Dreams of the recollection
Of the pattern
Of the pattern she weaves of time.
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