Saturday, April 21, 2007

Garment. (for my Dad who used to be a tailor before he was a Pastor)

All dreams, all thoughts, all feelings,
All these collections of me.
Like yarn, wrapped round a needle,
Condemmned not to be free.

When they break, as at times they do,
I find myself glimpsing something new,
Something unplanned...
Something true.

I wish I knew what was ahead,
Who it was that holds the thread
Pieces sewn together instead...
Of being thrown away.

At times the cut seems coarse and rough
I think "I'll never have enough!",
But then You come and finish up.
The work begun in me.

Some day I'll see You face to face
and in those moments, in that place,
I'll ask the question "why such grace?"
And you will answer me.

"You never saw what I had done,
cutting cloth where it had clung,
for far too long to it's own thread;
My Child, I made the best instead".

1 comment:

  1. Between you and arty I'm gonna look like a bad poet. ;) I enjoyed this, though. It has familiarity with a personal touch. And I am a bit jealous of people who can rhyme without sounding trite. You've done well!

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