seemed I woke today with nerves of wool, combing through my thoughts
like through a tangle, needing to card and weave,
seeking a thread to spin so fine...
The wool is found, but all the threads are mine.
My fingers spin like magic, making cloth so warm and bright,
to cover all the blemishes that show in nature's night.
I weave the stories of the past, with metaphors so fine
that all my hearers find today in every other line.
I weave and spin the clouds of heaven into earthly sand,
and bring the jewels of earth aloft to decorate my magic hand.
With threads of sacred song and prayer I spin the hope that wasn't there;
the isolated souls who hear take hold the threads, release some fear,
and weave together, month and year, a new thread with both sigh and tear..
...so from a tangle old and new spin dreams as strong as oak and yew.
I merely spin, and weave, and give the threads of hope by which we live.