The Grey Thread

My life is a grey thread,
A thin grey stretched out thread,
And when I trace its course, I moan:
How dull! How dead!

But I have gay beads.
A pale one to begin,
A blue one for my painted dreams,
And one for sin,
Gold with coiled marks,
Like a snake’s skin.

For love an odd bead
With a deep purple glow;
A green bead for a secret thing
That few shall know;
And yellow for my thoughts
That melt like snow.

A red bead for my strength,
And crimson for my hate;
Silver for the songs I sing
When I am desolate;
And white for my laughter
That mocks dull fate.

My life is a grey thread
Stretching through Time’s day;
But I have slipped gay beads on it
To hide the grey.