Loom Magic

Clickety clack
White thread, then black
Over the ancient loom.

Clunkity click
Sharp needle’s prick
A thimble’s silver sheen.

Some thread, some parts,
A weaver’s heart
Nights lit by a lonely moon.

Blood red, pure gold,
A tale is told
The tapestry coming to light.

Blisters and aches
All the time it takes
Threads are twisted and tangled.

Time goes on by
As fingers fly
Bringing old legends to life.

Hung high in a hall
Adored by all
A long life’s work now complete.

Then silence falls soft
In the old woman’s loft
And over the ancient loom.

The End

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