Swarmed by choral tunes of early birds,
Her hands mold curves into shape, touched by love
While fluid eyes hum as bands entwine.
Till weeks alight requesting for night’s quiet rest,
Yet mornings lift palms on the same shade
Pinning tiny beads embossed like rows of wreaths
Crocheted strips finally twirl in dainty pattern
The perfect mingling of straws looped in elegance;
Finally,...
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