Her fabric wove from finest silken thread
Imbued with strands of sweet capricious fate,
Her footfalls echo sounds that mortals dread
As onwards, with her ne’er unchanging gait,
Since dawn awoke her with a small request
To witness all that was, and that will be,
She's journeyed forth with ne’er a pause to rest
And on anon she runs eternally --
Would that I could contrive to halt her stride,
Unwinding threads to weave another song
And meeting self, could overcome his pride,
Relating how and where he got it wrong --
        Should good advice from him be mine to take,
        I fear my doom, to live the same mistake.