It started with a single thread,
something, someone once had said
something, for which I still felt dread
something, that I'd long thought dead
This thing, that would not leave my mind,
this thing, so mirthless and unkind
a mote in ancient history's eye,
a speck of dust to make gods cry
I stitched the horrid thing together
with fingers flying fast as feathers,
on...
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