#InvisibleThreads

In the quietude of her heart, she spins,
Not with yarn or needle, but with moments,
Each one a thread unseen, yet felt,
Binding her to times she knows not, yet lives within,

In her youth, when morning dew is soft upon her brow,
She gathers petals in her hands, their fragrance woven
Into the fabric of her laughter, light as spring's first air,
And in that joy, an invisible thread takes hold,

Through the noon of her days, her hands busy with life's tasks,
A quiet rhythm...