Thread, spindle and shears.

Devine fortune tellers.

The date of the gods and mortals

Rests in our deathly cold hands.

Their destinies are spun

At the length in which we see

And sliced by sharp rusted shears.

Not even Zeus can handle our tedious task.

Three sisters.

For past , present and future.

We are here to last.

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Published by abbipoetry17

I am a mother by day and a poet by night. I love any form of creativity that lets me showcase my inner emotions.

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