Christopher Askew

Goodbye, and...

Goodbye, good friend, it's time for you to go
Of making merry we have had our share
Our tales we told, our cups did overflow
Diverting us while autumn's hours fell bare.

Remember on that far fair summer's day
I met you on the road and bade you bide?
Did I know then how generous your stay
Despite my errands I'd have stayed inside.

And now drear winter's weeks grow wan and chill
Now too my patience and my cellar's store
Come short, and though I'll love each visit still
Each absence will endear you even more.



Nona - the spinner of the thread of life - and her sisters Decima and Morta are the three Fates of Roman and Greek mythology, the controllers of human destiny.  They are sometimes associated with the Temple of Apollo and its oracle at Delphi, which sits on the slopes of Mount Parnassus above the seaside town of Itea. 


Nona nods


Beneath her careful fingers stiches fly—

Delphic geese across a rasa sky—

Nona nods, unfurls and smooths 

fresh cloth and through the needle's eye

unspools a new-spun thread


the Singer whirls and hums, the fabric flows: 

a onesie's tiny ducks-all-in-a-row becomes 

a prom dress' late judicious dart—

a swelling heart requires accommodation—


Nona nods; with gentle concentration

seams of jeans' patched knees— 

torn climbing trees—trim the floating  

veil on summer's bride—  


a white-bleached curtain billowing wide 

to let Itea's sun and sea breeze through— 

what's Seen is never certain, ever new— 


Nona nods, and smock and apron, 

frock and gown, suit and shawl

unfold, each sewn with all 

the toil and joy a life can hold.


Now sunset gilds Parnassus  

Nona nods, and as she bends 

she knots and snips the thread—

a life well led—selects another 

pattern and begins again.


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