What was once new, vibrant, and tightly spun,
Is now worn, faded, and thinning.
The threads are slowly unraveling,
And the seams are coming undone.
The string that proudly left its spool,
Set on stitching an intricate design,
Has become enmeshed, forced to consign,
And pine for the versatility of tulle.
Is it possible, to patch the tattered,
Restore the original needlework,
Redress the rips that I, the wearer, shirk,
Or reinvent the fabric that is battered?
Have the darning tools become too rusted,
Or tangles too knotted for the needle,
To mend the snagged material,
That is now démodé and dusted?
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