Weave

In the quiet workshop where the loom stands still,
a weaver's hands begin to dance and spin,
pulling warp and weft through timbered grain,
each thread a hue of earth or sky's own stain.

The shuttle flies like a swift, silver bird,
trailing colours that the neighbours have heard.
Patterns emerge, a tapestry of thought,
where joy and sorrow intertwine, unsought.

We realise the cloth is more than mere cloth;
it holds the stories of each labouring soul.
So let us weave, with patience, heart and art,
and wear our lives as garments, warm and stark.