Full Black Veil

At the far end of the universe
Where space time curves back on itself,
There is a library.

In the library there is a woman
Sitting in a wheelchair,
Wearing a full black veil,

Listening to reports coming in
From the crab nebulae and all the far flung matter.

She makes notes and keeps them
In a knitting basket next to her chair
In case she needs them
Should all of time turn out to be a matter of interpretation.

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