-- Spool of Thread --
John Herlihy
At birth, a spool of thread tightly bound,
With the first breath, the spool unbound.
We see ourselves as a fabric tightly knit,
We don’t see that a thread is slightly slit.
The hour-glass image and sands of time,
A fulsome life, measuring a destiny mine.
At first, time’s sands drain moments quick,
The sands disappear, as a fire on the wick.
As threads unwind, we don’t notice at first,
Life moves ever onward, a poem well versed.
Soon, infancy, childhood, youth are missing,
Not missed in the flush of maturity’s blessing.
The thread now running its course, oh so thin,
Soon nothing will be left, a feeling oh so grim,
With the thread unwound, the husk done away.
No one will notice unbound threads on the tray,
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Copyright ©John Herlihy
Monday 26 July 2021
I guess that's why I titled my biography, Hanging by a Thread. We have a wonderful nervous system that runs from our brain to our toes. All we have to do is just, think, to move a single toe and it moves in the direction we want. And in an instant, allowing our toes to enable us to run 100 m in less than 10 seconds. When we reach old age, our toes no longer get the message and we reach for a walker. The spinal thread grows very thin and weak.
But your brain, creating this poem, shows me that it's not wearing thin and losing its threads anytime soon.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane