The Book

 

1          With an eager hand, I opened to look-

2          And scrawl upon page of my own Moirai book,

3          My cover unique with my paper prescribe

4          Of me a depiction of nothing belied.

5          Each day a new line by Klothos entwined,

6          Would in hand denote of experiences mine.

7          Nothing rewritten, though frequent reread,

8          Each letter a stone - each sentence in lead.

9          As the pages turned yellow, my colorless lips-

10        Would read the last words as made Atropos snip.