I was mad at the world

When my wife passed away,

And I carried that

Rage to no end;

On a dark, lonely night,

I took off through the woods,

For I had to

Confide in a friend.

On the path through the woods

In the pale moonlight,

Stood the Moirai

Beneath an old tree,

With their life-thread and shears

And old spindle in hand —

They were standing

There waiting for me!

I looked at Atropos

With her life-ending shears,

And I asked her

About my late wife:

Why she’d cut off the line

So unhappily short

For it tragically

Ended her life.

She methodically said

She had cut the life-thread

At the place that had

Been measured out,

So I backed down and turned

To Lachesis instead,

And I asked how that

Place came about.

She was vexed, I could see,

When she answered that she

Measures out what

Is given to her,

And I knew there and then

That the last of the three

Chose the date that

A death would occur.

So I asked of Clotho,

With her spindle in hand:

Had she reasons for

Choosing that date?

And she hushed me right up

By informing me that

Even gods cannot

Alter their fate.

Well I knew she was right

And my anger was quelled,

And instead now

I started to weep,

There was no one to blame,

So I headed for home,

And I let my poor

Friend get his sleep.