There she sits,
A pair of scissors and needle,
A spool of thread and jewels,
Preparing herself.
She cuts a length thrice over;
It seems sufficient
For the task at hand –
A string of pearls.
She picks one out,
Smooth and round and white.
But she is only
Apprentice to the master.
Questions begin to form,
“Is it strong?
Or too weak a string
For the weight of pearls?”
But it has begun,
And cannot begin again.
As a radiant serpent,
It writhes and whispers.
A thing of perfection.
“But, perhaps, a ruby or two?
A diamond or emerald?”
The brilliant jewels she adds.
She is nearing completion
When the master intervenes.
“No, no! I am not finished!
I yet have jewels here!”
The knot has been made,
Imperfections laid bare.
Pocked, marked, and gray pearls
Are all she can see.
Then around her neck
The master lays it.
The creator draws out
All its perfections.
In time she sees it,
With glittering eyes,
The necklace on her
As perfection.
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Submission Name: Stringing Pearls
