Her final piece of art

The skeletal stooped spinster sits amidst candlelight spreading her canvas of milky white.. a sharp needle betwixt her finger and thumb as she stitches her wares sipping spiced rum..she is a shadowy sight not for the faint hearted, this figure grey and ghostly silences secrets imparted

Her tapestry she has woven with silvery silk threads intertwined yet finely braided amidst gilted golden shreads..a beauty beyond the eye of the beholder, dazzled by her log fire as the embers smoulder..on and on as she hears the church clock chime this little old lady sits sewing bewitched by time..captivated by the colours of her charming delight, she stitches methodically all thru the night

As the hands of the church clock strike one, two, three, four.. this fragile female can sew no more.. tho her canopy is complete, such an exquisite vision..her masterful, painstaking matchless mission.. yet this fine finesse she manages with skill against Doctor’s orders, nor at God’s will.. tho this last piece of pretty parchment shall be her final piece of art.. as she sewed each stitch meticulously.. her preeminence, she perfected magnificently