Mother Seamstress
Our souls are stitched by common thread;
we state our thoughts, no word unsaid.
Your love is sewn within my heart
with seams no strife can pull apart.
Through time our cloth endures much wear;
small tears you mend with fervent prayer.
Your needle love, your wisdom thread,
Your thimble? Silent tears you shed.
God chose the fabric he would use.
He knew it would become abused.
Sometimes the tear appears too great,
my seamstress, though, I underrate.
She labors past the midnight hour,
relying always on God’s pow’r.
By morning light she takes her rest,
and here’s the proof that I am blessed:
My life’s well-worn and loosened strands
are bound once more by mother’s hands.
© 2010 C.T. Bailey
Our souls are stitched by common thread;
we state our thoughts, no word unsaid.
Your love is sewn within my heart
with seams no strife can pull apart.
Through time our cloth endures much wear;
small tears you mend with fervent prayer.
Your needle love, your wisdom thread,
Your thimble? Silent tears you shed.
God chose the fabric he would use.
He knew it would become abused.
Sometimes the tear appears too great,
my seamstress, though, I underrate.
She labors past the midnight hour,
relying always on God’s pow’r.
By morning light she takes her rest,
and here’s the proof that I am blessed:
My life’s well-worn and loosened strands
are bound once more by mother’s hands.
© 2010 C.T. Bailey