Joseph**
 
He’s afraid of her basically.
 
She organises everything,
his food, his clothes
his children, their time together.
 
She wasn’t prepared;
it happened.
She made it work.
 
but . . .
 
She belongs to someone else,
and ponders this mystery
in her heart.
 
He shuts himself
in his workshop.
A good and gentle man.

The time she takes collecting the material
Organises her thoughts
On how it should appear,
It's her fulltime job
Once she's up very early
And before she sets
Foot in bed.
She grows it to her position
Of perfection,
To Endeavour it's the best
Amongest all of a kind,
To sacrifice all and see it shine
Even in mysterious times
To all times she stands to defend
her own creation or even opt for
Change in design.

When age suppresses
Her control to it
She keeps the insist
Of weaving it
Never is she tired of
Her duties and never
Does she plan to retire.

The time she takes collecting the material
Organises her thoughts
On how it should appear,
It's her fulltime job
Once she's up very early
And before she sets
Foot in bed.
She grows it to her position
Of perfection,
To Endeavour it's the best
Amongest all of a kind,
To sacrifice all and see it shine
Even in mysterious times
To all times she stands to defend
her own creation or even opt for
Change in design.

When age suppresses
Her control to it
She keeps the insist
Of weaving it
Never is she tired of
Her duties and never
Does she plan to retire.

Days of a selected length squash against one another
Piling up high 'til the calendar confuses before it organises

First weeks, then months
Stretching ambitions into unusual shapes
Lingering decisions losing their weight
Making way for a wave of minor tasks to take the reins
With scratched-off to-do lists

Bobbing along the surface
Hardly leaving ripples in passing
Doing little more than watching the reflections go by and wondering what might make them

We won't have moments like this again

Not for a while, at least