Woven into every thought
a golden thread in deep blue sea
the waft on which her poems are caught
will form a living  tapestry

and into every single day,
this loom upon which wafts are wound,
in green she'll choose to make her way
on shuttles wrapped with seaweed found

the ordinary man, an ocean
barge which follows shipping lane
passing through without a notion
brilliant orange and not mundane

streams of light, not white nor yellow
radiant warmth throughout the room
through every season, this old fellow
present, steady, lights the loom.

Beauty makes a sudden turn
for what's to come, could never guess
when trouble takes the finest yarn
and twists it into tangled mess

with barren shuttle, words are lean
"and hardly can I say!", she'll moan
with eyes upon the battle scene
"this tapestry is not my own!"

and into blackness of the night
a the sunlit moon with silvery shroud
will ease across the sky tonight
illuminating every cloud

and even as the stars like lint
reveal their light in darkened hours
the quiet moments also glint
a single word, enormous powers.

as shuttles glide, a poem evolves
and words begin to take their place
in colors as the earth revolves
this tapestry is bathed in grace.