Welcome to my house,
My palace,
Of words,
They float,
And dance,
Just mere words,
For a moment,
Before I spin them,
Into what you desire,
Tell me,
Do you desire a poem or prose?
A tale of woe and grief?
Something more light hearted?
Tell me,
And I will,
Grant your wish,
No matter how complex,
No matter how far-fetched,
For words,
Have been my domain,
For longer than I can remember,
Ever spinning,
Ever circling,
Until I weave them,
At my fingertips,
And create,
Small fragments,
That create,
A small blot,
On the page of life,
You could say,
I am there master,
But I prefer,
To be called,
The Weaver
Weaver
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