Balls Of Yarn

• James Gass, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2019

If there were a yarn to be spun,
reeling by an infinite seam:
to gather ye stories and run would be fun,
to an archaic world of yesteryear.

Feel the sunset chilly on the bones
reel a fish in from an empty lake.
It’s a croony time, traveller of the night;
nowhere to grow, nowhere-a-home.

The ground’s a vast green sheet:
grounds to write the next of ye works
‘till the heat-a-dissolve the words
and there dies a garland of roses.

Listen to a tune hardly understood;
pluck a melody if ye could.
Craft a plan with your stories
carried in a pile of chaos and confusion.