Woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me,
Saying that now you are not as you were
When you had changed from the one who was all to me,
But as at first, when our day was fair.

Can it be you that I hear?  Let me view you, then,
Standing as when I drew near to the town
Where you would wait for me: yes, as I knew you then,
Even to the original air-blue gown!

Or is it only the breeze in its listlessness
Travelling across the wet mead to me here,
You being ever dissolved to wan wistlessness,
Heard no more again far or near?

   Thus I; faltering forward,
   Leaves around me falling,
Wind oozing thin through the thorn from norward,
   And the woman calling.

The little girl pulled on the thread

Wanting to see what would happen

Wanting to find what was behind

the neat little crochet patterns



It looked wonderful in her head

Another world all together

String in between her fingertips

And a soul as light as a feather



The little girl pulled on the thread

Excitedly anticipated

What new and spectacular shows,

Mystery and strange magic awaited



The wildflowers dance in the wild,' they'd said

Take in the places you've never been

Take in the stories with all your senses

And beautiful characters that you can't imagine



The little girl pulled on the thread

Every tug revealed another picture

Each break made the world unravel

The black and white turned into a mixture

Of grey



It looked wonderful in her head

Until it just became a mess

of dishonesty and selfishness



She was left lost in the different shades

In confusion and wistlessness

With dirt in her eyes and her pretty dress



The little girl pulled on the thread

The world in chaos, looked almost half dead

But the wildflowers danced in the wild, like they'd said

Out of brokenness comes beauty, she once read


It looked wonderful in her head