Thread

When all a-quiver
Silver thread
Hears iron shears
That whisper dread

The sound of Nyx’s
Daughters: calling

Can sound of hail,
Or feathers: falling

What happens then,
When strand meets blade

To cut it cleanly
Or torn and frayed

Cold, unfeeling,
Morta’s shears

Can sound of sleep
Or ring of fears

Asked of the Amur Leopard

Padded pawprints through the snow

Show where you’ve been

But who can know

What you have seen

Where wind will blow

Where wind will blow