I am a necklace.
My beads are threaded in a row, in a string.
I am a necklace which sings
with peculiar grace.

Between my singing stanzas is a space
across which something leans
to the next line, it means
well; it admits pace.

I am fine thread in ancient lace,
a series of risky stepping stones,
a case of moving bones.

Helena Nelson

If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.

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