A needle more than scissors

There once was a noble man, a tailor, A great soul disguised in a routine role, In sea of humdrum life, a skilled sailor In search of a hallowed path of plain goal. A king when came to him, homage to pay, Gifted a pair of scissors made of gold That left the sage ponder, if somewhat cold, Declining the award, no more to say. What else may I O Great Sage, asked the king, Give if ye must, give a needle that stitch, Scissors tend to diminish, dividing, Needles bond, strive togetherness so rich, Bring broken hearts back as ere to abide, Not scissors, let needles be a man’s guide. __________________________________________ Sonnet (Reflections | 03.05.2008, revised Jan 2024|