The seasons blooming flowers are fading.

In the meadow and the lea.

I wonder as I am daydreaming

Have they bloomed their last for me?

The mass of flowers at springtime

filled my heart with summers swell.

But now as I see them wilt

I am fading with them as well.

My eyes have seen the magic webbing,

that’s life’s needlepoint has done.

The light and dark of threading

it mingled one by one.

I wondered if the darkest thread

as black as deepest night.

Served only to make the pretty colors,

more vivid and sunshine bright.

The tapestry is almost woven

My strangely patterned web.

Perhaps this very moment

I am holding its last thread.