Perhaps it's time
I sang to the mermaids
enticed their slimy forms to slither close
while I live on
calling on
from the rock-strewn strand.

Let seaweed-bedecked heads
rise from the shallows
shoulders draped in seafoam
green hair swirling in gentle eddies
pay tribute to my song.

While I sit beside the sea
running the shuttle
beneath the strings
warp and woof
weft and weave
words tied in knots
for texture on the cloth
singing all the while
as my feet press levers
a dance in time
to my rhyme.

Let those ladies
of the shingle
thirst for the sound
of my voice
and beach themselves
for want of the cloth
I weave
singing all the while

Singing each to each
singing all the while.
©E. Howe Nov 4 2003 "