Threads of Silk and Spite

A child with dreams, so wide, so bright,
Received a gift on winter's night.
Her thanks were penned in youthful cheer,
A bond was forged, both sweet, sincere.

The years did bloom. The seasons turned
A flame of wonder lit then burned.
A theme park’s joy. A jasmine dress.
Each moment shared a fleeting bless.

But time, unkind, began to fray,
The golden threads gave way to gray.
A whispered rift, a bitter part,
Two hearts adrift, yet torn apart.

The elder sought to guide, to mold.
Yet left the younger feeling cold.
A city’s pulse, a summer’s stay
Could not erase what went astray.

Through catacombs and towers high.
Beneath the stars where dreams would fly
They spoke of love, of paths unknown.
Yet seeds of discord had been sown.

A clash of wills, a storm of pride.
The ties that snapped. The tears that dried.
A silent ache, a hollow space.
Two souls estranged yet yearning grace.

Then came a plea a fragile start
To mend the wounds, to heal the heart.
No bridge too far, no chasm wide
For love can bloom where trust has died.

And now they stand though worlds apart.
Their voices soft, their spirits chart.
A dollhouse waits, a tale retold
Of silk and spite, of young and old.