On Earth our threads become a tangled mess,
as we trace paths across the days and nights.
How rare that weft and warp should coalesce,
around a soul with skill to weave them tight.
For when we're plucked alone the sound is dull -
confined to vibrate at a single tone.
But when we're orchestrated as a whole,
the harmony insists we're not alone.
Alas, at times the seamster fills with doubt,
exhausted after balancing the load.
And as his process starts to flicker out,
he wonders whether he's a useful node.
His worries should abate! For we all know,
the nodes of high degree create the flow.