Flowing through the gentle stream of our subconscious, Lies hidden the weaver of dreams.
She weaved and weaved as time moves on, As we all lived our own lives.
Sitting on her spinning wheel, Weaving various threads for her tapestry of dreams.
The night is her time, The time we sleep our own worries, doubts, and joys.
She retells the past, present, and future, To help us mortals to learn and to thrive.
Isolated might she to all of us, But she is much part of all of us as we are to her.
Carrying this burden is not an easy thing, Yet she carries this to give us the time of reflection.
Her tapestry of dreams is yet to be finished, but as the world almost meets its demise, she will spread out her tapestry, To make the world dream of a new beginning in its end.