We who grab
the inner yarn and yawn
and spin the woolly words upon
the looming spindle wheel

with the colors
of all the fires
kindled
and all we feel

are cast aside
like clay for dirt
and made to beg
for food and shirt

and left to live
or even die
without a care
or reason why

We who dream
and persuade
with all the passion
we give away

Are yet ourselves
alone and poor
in spirit and truth
outside the door

(August 30th, 2017)