Poem: This Cotton Reel

I felt a tug, and then a pull
And like the spider’s good night’s work in the morning wind
The cotton thread on which I hang, is reeled back in.

What I thought was infinite,
Is finite. No more party streamers
Or ensigns on Ocean liners.

I know I am lucky
To have got this far without snag or break.
Yet I can’t help, I can’t help but wonder….

This cotton reel. My life.
If only I could make it run and run,
I have so much more to weave til i am done.

Simon Denegri
1 May 2015

1 Comment

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