In the hard, thin line of resolve.
And I left unsaid my stern rebuke,
But her answer cried loud in her mien:
“I weave; but the warp and the woof are thine;
Thou madest them yesterday.”
And so I watch, with sickening hope,
As her busy fingers ply
’Mongst threads from the throbbing Other Days,
And wisps from the ominous Days to Come,
And skeins from the stagnant Now.