Tracing Back The Strands

I stand at the tree in the place
and I weave
The wind whips up, the rain comes down
Yet still I weave

I watch the weave grow, I chant
My fingers work
I'm wet and I'm cold
Yet I still work

It seems dark there in that high place
As I call out my wishes to the wind
I take the magic, gather it up
Then weave it all in

When it's done I take the cord
Apple tree to hand
The wind drops, the rain calms
We give our thanks to the land

Weeks later I found
What I wove had come to pass
It didn't work out how I'd wanted
I should have wove better than that

Instead of a panicked attempt
Of weaving on a train
When I made everything all the worse for me
To keep what could not be saved

I should have known better
But the stakes were too high for me
I'd tried to work against wyrd
But had I not, what kind of a mother would I have been?