The Weaver

With the fading colours of a spent flowers bloom

The weaver wove new patterns through the loom

Each thread transformed the design of one’s life

The darkening colours depicting battles of strife

Time was of no matter as the weaver worked on

Each thread as woven captured a melody of song

The sound of the loom being pushed back and forth

Attention to detail as every thread must be caught

Each thread of thought twisting a design of choice

The weaver sat in silence with no need for a voice

 

~ Tryphena ~