Time stood still around her as
she wove her chain of clover flowers
tying every delicate knot with care
She ignored them at first as they became brown
so sundried and wilted
that even her delicate
knots
failed
Her fingers were sore
And she was becoming weary
Of staring at her wilted chain of clover flowers
Stretching for miles into the distance
And taunting her with its crisp and shriveled form
So as she continued to weave her clover flowers
She let her mind remain blank
She thought of nothing with every delicate knot she tied
Nothing as she plucked each flower from the ground
Nothing as she stared at the withered length of chain
And nothing as she finally laid it down