Weaver

The big guy hates this poem. Hates it. Unfortunately, it rapidly became one of his better known and better loved and most often requested works at readings over the years. So, he's stuck with it.


Weaver

I weave the fabric of my life.
I weep. I laugh. I moan.
Come now, my love, and weave with me.
I tire of weaving alone.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.

Why does he hate it so? He says it is because it is "too short, too simplistic and the word 'weave' (or 'weaver') occurs too many times in the four lines".

Poor baby, the burden of immortality.