The threads of a poem spiral from a loom
As freely to fingers of dish-cloth and broom
As to he who ponders on palettes of silk
The why and the wherefore of breath-to-breath ilk
We never know what colors may unfurl
Welkin of willow,
pink laughter of girl
Dapple of sunbeam or purple of mist
Dusk as it tiptoes in, moody-blue kissed
This is not any old
day that we hold
This is a
once-in-a-lifetime gray-gold
This is a stanza, when
it disappears
We cannot alter with
ten-thousand tears
Soft through our bearing the poem of life
Tempers the hand with the pen, joy and strife
Render their portions of hold and let go
Humble words tumble like ink-gilded snow
…weaving from threads as they slither and slip
Heavy with honey and gall through our grip
Pictures to keep as Time torments our grasp
Changing and changing the colors we clasp
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I hope you enjoyed your pause on this porch and thank-you for your visit!