Spin some lines
across these panes
so when threads
are frosted, rain-dropped
I'll perceive something divine;
the unseen hand that guides
your silken labour
Am I being fanciful?
Is it only a trap,
a net for carcasses?
Why then such wonder
in the weave?
Just 44 words for De’s quadrille prompt: Spin
PoetryPix 