Like a woollen thread on a wide loom,
I am pushed and pulled by a warm hand,
going up and down, but always forward,
weaving an unknown pattern.
When I end, another thread joins me,
of a different length, perhaps, of a different colour
and, after a pause, the work continues
under the sure touch of the weaver.
Once I end, twisted and tied,
I am no longer thought of, and the next thread
comes into view, until it is forsaken, too.
Thus, thread by thread, the pattern emerges,
magnificent, living long in memory,
for so much in it has been forgotten.
Homage to Camoens 2
© Copyright: Vlanes, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117112200509
Свидетельство о публикации №117112200509
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