In my well-used backroom, there’s a cellar door
Covered by an antique Persian rug.

The countless hours I’ve spent,
Each adornment, adoring—
Embroidery embroiling my fancies
With which I fecklessly beg
Myself to enframe on my wall,
Imploring against my whole fickle will.

T’would make for a fine tapestry,
Lavish and grand,
But on what then
Would my...