Reclined upon a tapestried throne
Silence.
Contemplation.
A tangled web goes ‘round and ‘round
Visions of restlessness plague me!
As the Weaver Of Destiny
Tallies the ties I have lost.
A weaver skilled is she
Wisdom burning in her myriad eyes
The strands so different, yet the same.
Why mourn the sacrifice?
Where is the pain of loss?
“What you see shall be returned,” says she.
“You are the wellspring of life.”
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