Silver-spun cells of gossamer thought,
threaded on breeze-blossoms, skilfully wrought;
whispers of whirlwind, Â fairy-frost food,
share your sweet secret – how do you stay glued?
Delicate membranes with hearts on your sleeve,
barely there brainstorm, a brittle-crisp weave –
filmy exquisite, in raiment of lace,
what holds you together while running your race?
*
How ironic that such beauty is to be found in the weak places…can it be that we, in our humanity, in our very fragility, are beautiful?

Leave a reply to tinamhunt Cancel reply