The Patient Thread

A tiny thread of hungry green,

upon a leaf of sunlit sheen.

A world of stems and vein and dew,

is all it knows the world is new.

It nibbles patterns - lace so fine

like a living slowly-drawing line

It eats the light. It drinks the rain.

And grows beyond its fragile chain.

It feels a pull-a deep set change.

A feeling wonderous new and strange.

It finds a twig in silence deep.

It spins a secret vow to keep.

A jade encased and still cocoon.

Beneath the silent watching moon.

The world forgets the thread that crawls.

As time outside the chamber stalls.

Then comes a day sun beam coax, a stirring inside the silken box.

A crack apear a strugle brief, then unfurls an absolute belief.

No longer a thread, nor leaf-bound creed but wing of sun and shadow freed.

The patient thread was always there.