The hands smooth the black velvet,
The needle and thread held ready.
She begins her stitching,
The silver thread glistening in the light.
Her hands, so fast, a blur
The stitches are delicate,
The pattern intricate and beautiful.
Small dots of silver,
Scattered across the fabric.
A crescent bow shape, a dash on the black
The last thread is cut,
The tapestry complete.
The seamstress hangs the tapestry,
She hangs it on her golden wall.
It meets her green carpet
One which blue satin pools.
The tapestry makes the room dark,
Dark enough for sleep.
She sleeps, she rests her weary hands.
When she awoke, she removed the tapestry.
The golden wall stands again