One August Saturday, are we ever never seen,
An Artist moves the clouds, silver to a sheen,
A perfect moment rounds into a sliding veil,
Holding on, the rain softens a hardened hail;
O goddess, in the mist of us, remember full—
{Weave your spell as simple layers to us pull}
Glow the dash away--break my early in a day,
Full stop, change, bloom the red in us to stay.
We often ride the tide of fate where we least expect to go, but in the weaving moment our stars can still the winds that rope our days.