The Magic Loom

Is anyone really dead? Is all only a dream? Are our lives only a thread in an ever larger tapestry woven by invisible weavers? It is often said that we never truly die until everyone who remembers us is dead. But what if Facebook remembers us?



Too late he slept, the night had fled

As windows turned to gray

And wind-borne ghosts circled his bed

While wolves began their play

They mocked him softly all the while

He moved, but did not wake

Dark shadows swam with glinting smile

Upon the darkened lake

Fierce riders thundered with a scream

As phantoms filled the room

And sly hags wove the nightly dream

Upon the magic loom


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