Weaving
The springs are dry now,
(I thought you might like to know)
For a moonless age
I believed the sources inexhaustable,
Like that tree where two chips grew
When one was hacked away.
But the springs flow no more.
All things must come to an end.
Even pain...
Even love.
Some people can catch up the ends of love,
Gather them tightly,
And braid them into new beginnings
But them, we were never much at weaving.
(I thought you might like to know)
For a moonless age
I believed the sources inexhaustable,
Like that tree where two chips grew
When one was hacked away.
But the springs flow no more.
All things must come to an end.
Even pain...
Even love.
Some people can catch up the ends of love,
Gather them tightly,
And braid them into new beginnings
But them, we were never much at weaving.
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