Hectic evenings, hectic nights

With whispers here and worries there.

My life can pull so many ways.

I try my best to do my share.

"Tell us stories," cublings chime,

Tugging sleeves as I walk past.

I tell them quick tall tales in rhyme

Or dance with them in rhythms fast.

I bend my ear the moments when

A tribesmate asks if I can pause

I try my best to stop, listen

But elsewhere now attention draws.

I wonder why it is my mind

Can never find a brief reprieve

Until I make time to unwind

And sit down at my loom to weave?

One small thread, the task begins

A story spun of cloth still spins

Two shades of dye to make the hue

Of pale moonlight on morning dew

A peace has settled on my soul

My thoughts become unscattered, whole.

But all too soon the cloth is made

Soft and silken on the loom.

And at the time my hands are stayed

My mind turns outward to the room

And all things else that need to be

Attended to before the dawn.

So many things depend on me

To help my tribesmates carry on.

I wonder why it is my mind

Can never find a brief reprieve

Until I make time to unwind

And sit down at my loom to weave?