Wool fibers spun together, reaching from beginning to end.

A spool length of wool fibers loaded into a loom,

Every fiber in the vertical position, like a string in a line of decisions to be made.

We take the shuttle with the wool fibers made from our choices,

weaving it above and below the vertical strands of wool.

Our decisions and choices woven together in our tapestry,

Our life,

Our fate.

The infinite wool strands remaining, still warped into the loom,

Tangled and intertwined, a messy spiral,

the strands branching out again like a tree showing the possibilities,

Ready for the next bit of fate to be woven,

As we examine who wove our tapestry.

The beginning of our tapestry woven by others,

The middle of our tapestry by ourselves,

And the end of our tapestries, woven together by ourselves and others.

We are the spinsters who spun the wool, the ones who threaded our loom.
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We are the weavers of our fate.

Writer's Statement: ​This poem is trying to express the idea that we "weave" our fate with the help of others.