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No. 66 (March 1969)
– 45 –


Beneath these leaves
We sat and talked
And as a weaver weaves
So we propelled our thoughts
Back and forth
Making patterns
Of similar kind
From the dark
Labyrinths of mind.

Strange that the hands
So close to mine
Were brown,
For while your ancestors
Enjoyed the sun,
In the northern clime
Faced fierce blizzards
In sombre woods of pine.

Yet we felt a kinship,
Found an affinity
Based on thoughts
Which like a garment
Of invisible threads
Wrapped round us
Like a patterned cloak
Enfolding us in its warmth
As we sat and spoke.

Margaret Dickey