Jan G. Otterstrom F.

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REFRAIN

From Thessaly my poems spring
woven with wool, carded from sheep
my grandfather pastured, Shepard
on the hills of Pindus, spindles run
until the thread is done;
dark nights, crystalline stars foretelling
of later generations, sound of sons
and daughters of the Gods, spindles run
until the thread is done;
yarn shuttled in the loom of time
life’s tapestries unfolding, I write along
the web, a water’s random course
spindles run until the thread is done;
daily impressions warn, designs bound
in weaving color age, shapes divine
randomness fettered, each day entered
leaving memories on the page
spindles run until the thread is done.




Jan G. Otterstrom F. 2/21/2012