by Selia Qynn 1970
Thoughts like ancient stepping stones
Lie dormant in my mind.
Great things usually go unsaid.
They never seem to rhyme.
Songs like ancient tapestry
Rain down into my eyes
Until released in wet salt tears.
Sometimes it's good to cry.
My life is like a tapestry
Although I'm very young,
The new part is simply at the end
From where it had begun.
In weaving I will grow and grow
And I will grow more wise.
The bigger picture must be seen
By even bigger eyes.
So though I'm only 16,
My experience is vast.
It's just that I can't see just yet,
That far into the past.