Somewhere there’s a tapestry 
Made from all that’s happening. 
Every day I add a string 
That’s woven through a silver ring. 
The color, I can’t really see, 
Even though it came from me. 
Faithfully with it I weave 
Another row, then add a bead. 

When morning comes, I softly sigh, 
Reflect upon my thready life, 
And think about patterns gone by, 
And how the knitting made me cry. 
I mourn the colors in the night, 
Wonder why I have no sight. 
Thoughts forlorn, I long for light. 
If only sadness made it bright. 

Another string will then appear 
Just as I can feel the fear 
Of running out as loose ends near 
Or having nothing left in here. 
My heart will blindly weave this prayer, 
But I won’t see an image there, 
’Til with a whisper in my ear, 
I hear, “Time to wake up, my dear.”

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