“Thread of Life”
Three figures
Huddled in the dark,
Moirae make us cloth.
With the first I have no quarrel;
She did her duty true.
But the second was the cruelest,
When she dispensed her lots to me
Were her hands trembling
When she wove the thread that is mine?
The third I await
With grim expectation.
Though there is no warmth in her heart
There is compassion in those shears.
Three figures
Huddled in the dark,
Moirae make us cloth.
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