A Morning’s Weave

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(Photo: Anant Chandra on Unsplash)

 

As Sun rose

In the east

It darned

A web of light upon

The leaves,

And sprinkled gold on

Spiders’ orbs

That dangled from

The eaves.

 

The artist watched the dawn

And breathed.

For though her heart

Believed,

She knew her fingers

Do not have the skill

To tessellate this wonder

Into the mosaic that

Her soul

Perceived.

 

 

 

For Sammi’s Weekend Writing Prompt: Tessellate in 58 words