It’s just I
think we’re spun
around and round.

I’m not so sure what
I’m to do,

A string so close and frayed with one like you.

At the point at which we’ll come to be unbound,

Get you a needle;
let me be unfound.

I’ll try to stay untorn,

to keep my hue,

Find you other colors,
red, white, and blue;

In time, I’ll see myself
become a gown.

Oh wait, what’s this? It’s grabbed, my line –

I feel I must be going through an eye.

Perhaps I’ll see myself
as knit, oh gee!

Yes, it seems I’ll be
alright, just fine.

Hold on, it looks to me
not sock or tie,

Instead, behold, I’m
shown as
a tapestry.