Today the sky wove its deep thread of cold winds as if to rake dying grass like a doctor suturing wounds. Last year it was the same. O! Teach us not to break things! Teach us to love! Give us the tools to overcome our blindness. Help us find the warmth, hands and breath, instruments threading affection instead of cruelty, temperate winds weaving blankets for happiness to lie in. © 2009 mrp/thepoetryman
(The Weaver's Song)