Spun Tales

Locked in a tower made

Of clouds, lonely Fate

Seated at her spinning

Wheel, ancient fingers

Twist the threads about

The spindle, bare feet

Push the pedal, the web

Is existence without 

Beginning or end,

Nothing can tempt her

To alter the pattern

Her blind eyes do not

See, tales speak of

Happenings in

Whispers carried on

Starlight and wind,

Stories of giants, elven,

Fae, dragons and magic,

Fate goes about her

Work which is as is,

Reflected in a mirror

Cracked by mystery.

By Gail Constable

From: Canada

Instagram: witch_of_words1955