Strands of silver stained with red A tapestry's beguiling thread Tightly wound, a pattern forms Pulsating in the darkened storm
Gentle weaver, bring the sun Your doubled form beats as one Pulse for pulse, the light of day Will help to keep the dark away
But does silver razors hide Or, surviving time, will it abide at home in woven pattern long? Is red on silver mourning song?
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