A poem is meant to be heard.

You will want to rotate your phone.

Master Weaver

A Poem of Intimate Trust

Master Weaver
Moving in and out of my soul
With other worldy precision

If I could just grasp
The care, the dedication to Your craft
How much peace would be mine

But instead I yell, I scream
I am frantic with fear
As my blinded eyes perceive only knots and imperfections

Master Weaver, Lover of my soul
Your work continues
Minute by minute, second by second, decade by decade

Oh My Master Weaver!
My Master Weaver!
My Master Weaver…

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