Penelope to the Shuttle of Her Loom

Your world is small, my shuttle: just this loom,
   Just warp and weft, within one tiny room,
Yet what I’d give to fly as free as you,
   Glide backward swift as forward—not to keep
This tangled ruse. But what more could I do?
   Un-spin the . . .
. . . . . . .
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