Yes, it was a new dawn
But my spirits drooped
Heavily I stooped
lost and forlorn
in the lawn.
Then things changed in a jiffy
As my eyes fell on a weaver spiffy.
In the first rays of the sun
A beautiful thing sublime
Elegant its gossamer rhyme
In every strand was hidden a tinkle
And a buoyant chime.
I loved the way the weaver rolled
On the morning cold .
The silver gossamer strands
Stretching from one tree to another
were tinted in gold.
The tiny architect and designer
Heaved and weaved
An intricate web
My appreciative glance
As the sunbeams broke into dance
Foxtrotting on the gossamer strands.
Suddenly it took a false step and slipped
Damaging the majestic tapestry, but gripped
A tiny strand alternating between
And frenzied descent.
Frantically it groped
Clinging to the tenuous edifice of hope
Scuttling across one broken strand
Feverishly resuming the renovation grand.
The never say die spirit scintillated and shone
As the web was reborn
As a beautiful rhyme sublime.
An exemplary tapestry was yet again spun
Under the sun.
Step by step, strand by strand
Before my eyes there was majesty grand.
I saw the weaver heaving, cleaving, retrieving
Not grieving and leaving
the weaving of this
Magical tapestry of rebirth , regeneration
from the debris of hope.
Now no longer did I mope
My spirits lifted as to me the weaver gifted
A gossamer rhyme.
In every strand I heard a tinkle
And a buoyant chime .
And the peals of labour