How beautiful a thread this existence weaves,
Getting out of the car on Chestnut Grove.
I had imagined it to be high noon,
Stitching time into my hopeful step.
But on the pavement conkers and brown leaves
(I Love this walk, these shops, these dreams).
I whisper a broken tune,
Unconscious but a living thread.
It’s later than I thought, but
While I Breathe and smile this is my world.
Fate’s needle will have to wait;
My final twist is not yet curled
