The tapestry

She calls her life a tapestry,
a humble stitch-work of a home
with a tidy garden; the garden where
juvenile follies have ripened into
fruits of ardour; fruits that have treasured
seeds for a butter-flavoured mid-life, daily
talk of cups and saucers, the warmth of
genteel love, smiles, friends, sun and rain...
She has imbibed them all in her patterns.

Nowadays hours go by talking to
a yellow butterfly; how pristine will be
the twilight! What brilliant hues will
spill out of the clouds! ...She struggles hard,
hard to thread her needle again.