Somewhere there’s a tapestry
Made from all that’s happening.
Every day I add a string
That’s woven through a silver ring.
The color, I can’t really see,
Even though it came from me.
Faithfully with it I weave
Another row, then add a bead.
When morning comes, I softly sigh,
Reflect upon my thready life,
And think about patterns gone by,
And how the knitting made me cry.
I mourn the colors in the night,
Wonder why I have no sight.
Thoughts forlorn, I long for light.
If only sadness made it bright.
Another string will then appear
Just as I can feel the fear
Of running out as loose ends near
Or having nothing left in here.
My heart will blindly weave this prayer,
But I won’t see an image there,
’Til with a whisper in my ear,
I hear, “Time to wake up, my dear.”
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