I am like a dear halo,
Plucked from a rainbow,
Thread can be any color, and is wound in a spool.
A tight noose brings me to life,
With the repeated stab of a knife,
You have to tie a knot through the needle to sow
Old grief of the elephants,
Elephants bury their dead, a needle must bury the thread under other layers of thread to weave anything.
Holy like the elements,HOLEY. HOW MANY ELEMENTS?
Four classical elements, four directions you sow in.
I penetrate a scar of my soft master,
Each place a thread is sown, before there was a hole or space.
I elude many, you better run faster. IT IS EASILY LOST
If the thread is not attached to a needle, or becomes removed while weaving, it is difficult to find.