Tapestry

My life has been a tapestry of rich and royal hue,

an everlasting vision of the everchanging view,

a wondrous woven magic in bits of blue and gold,

a tapestry to feel and see, impossible to hold.

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Once amid the soft silver sadness in the sky

there came a man of fortune, a drifter passing by

he wore a torn and tattered cloth around his leathered hide

and a coat of many colors, yellow-green on either side.

He moved with some uncertainty, as if he didn't know

just what he was there for, or where he ought to go

once he reached for something golden hanging from a tree

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and his hand came down - empty.

Soon within my tapestry along the rutted road

he sat down on a river rock and turned into a toad,

it seemed that he had fallen into someone's wicked spell,

and I wept to see him suffer, though I didn't know him well.

As I watched in sorrow, there suddenly appeared

a figure gray and ghostly beneath a flowing beard

in times of deepest darkness, I've seen him dressed in black

now my tapestry's unravelling; he's come to take me back,

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he's come to take me back.