What do Lachesis, Clotho, Atropos, do, when they get together at last?
Grab a lunch? Out for cocktails and tapas, or a heartier, fuller repast?
I imagine the Fates as three yentas, sitting, gossiping over your threads,
matching outfits, in pink and magenta, then snip, snip as they send their regrets.
Author notes: image from Freepik
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