The Weaver Poem by Sally Evans

She picks at complex threads
on the growing scalloped edge
in clarity under the skylight
in the dedicated room,
scissors and tools to hand,
cones of graded yarn.

She's first in. She plans
her next colours, creative
though mapped on the cartoon.
the traced copies of detail,
blueprint pinned to the wall,
envelope her like bunting.

Tapestry grows slowly,
thread by thread, fine picked.
Rough turf climbs the rampart,
its bright points, dewy grassblades,
shadowed leaves, maple, beech,
a pattern not yet spun.

Stirling Castle: A Celebration of the Castle.