As I watch the storyteller tell
She twirls beside me.
Hair wrapped around her fingers so tightly.
Stops, relaxes, then weaves it again.
I doubt I’ll see this come to an end.
Does it resemble her mind,
Ensnared by troubles
As trivial or complex as they may be.
O rue the day you twirl too much, my dear,
As we listen to the old man’s stories
Or your worries will get the best of you,
Whatever it is you fear.