MY FATHER

The spinner works alone, each thread spun with care

On and on, though all is returned to her, so she may spin again

You took your strand without knowing its length

And were troubled, knowing the blade severs all

But the coat of life you wore was long

Sumptuous with colour, warp, and weft

We rejoiced in its form

And cried at its unravelling

We remember how magnificent that coat was, and loved you all the more.