This day will soon pass and what will be left?
Everything…
For what we celebrate in wine and song
cannot truly be spoken or known.
Like wishes cradled in my heart
as I knitted your bridal stole -
they remain in the spaces between.
Like the ken you have of each other
it will make damp, dreich days dryer,
offer a cushion against future sorrow,
pop a seed pearl of light in your darkest nights
and be an aegis to your fledgling dreams.
It runs like a thread of knitted silk
to bind you lightly together.
It is there in the musical click of needles
the imperfect and the better stitch.
The casting on…the casting off.
The final cut of yarn…the tying of the knot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem