thank You, God- for drawing me through the needle once again
in your inscrutable sewing, mending the hem of my soul
so that my heart no longer ravels out
in the season of snow, the thin atmosphere of this planet.
I hold my jacket tight, the quilted one in a strange, an old rose colour
a dye no longer used
and seek to hide from drafts no longer new
under my Grandmother's golden thimble,
the smallest one.
no longer the roseleaf over my cradle,
the violets song.
I row on filaments though on a moss green pond
I call the sea and rely on Thee seeing
that I make do with homes
snatched from the rainbows, abalone and dew
cast off from sea creatures gone
and paper weights find to weigh me down in the breeze
that puffs the puff ball
when I sneeze.
mary angela douglas 15 october 2018
in your inscrutable sewing, mending the hem of my soul
so that my heart no longer ravels out
in the season of snow, the thin atmosphere of this planet.
I hold my jacket tight, the quilted one in a strange, an old rose colour
a dye no longer used
and seek to hide from drafts no longer new
under my Grandmother's golden thimble,
the smallest one.
no longer the roseleaf over my cradle,
the violets song.
I row on filaments though on a moss green pond
I call the sea and rely on Thee seeing
that I make do with homes
snatched from the rainbows, abalone and dew
cast off from sea creatures gone
and paper weights find to weigh me down in the breeze
that puffs the puff ball
when I sneeze.
mary angela douglas 15 october 2018
