The Finest Thread Poem by Mark Heathcote

The finest thread needs a needle.
You can't thread yourself without help.
It doesn't matter how steady your hand is
or how keen your eyes see
it takes a heart with a pure soul.
That never trembles, not one breath.
And it leaves nothing to fate.

It's like a nightingale singing in the dead of night.
Knowing soon her song will reach her forest mate.
And all the stars in heaven will be sewn.
In an embroidery of sparkling dreams,
a tapestry here never dreamed of too late.
'Wherever Romeo goes, he always joins his Juliet.'