With all the art of patient mending
First this thread, and then that binding,
Now this stitch that, so demanding,
Spilt the verse I caught your mind in;
On to scattered words of wanting
Gleaned from needs and shadows, haunting;
All is lost that you believed in –
Leaving love for me to grieve in.

Now I sit and want and weave in
All the dross of bitter lendings,
New beginnings from old endings!

David Lewis Paget