By Vera Agnes

I am weaving the

tapestry of my life.
I am spinning the threads of my past,

the odd and knobbly strands, the

smooth and soft ones, it is all flowing

like silk through my hands once I sit

down at my loom.
Only when it all blends together, I can

see the unfolding pattern I was blind to

see before. When bits and pieces

seemed like bitter blocks before, they

now turn into a manifold ornament, to enliven my life on a tapestry of

The more I weave, the more I trust.
Though sometimes I will bleed and

blister, it is inherent to the weaver’s

work and weave I must.
My tapestry is unique as yours, not

better or worse, simply mine and as my

tapestry grows, so do I.
I weave and I weep, I weave and I laugh.
I weave in darkness, I weave in light.

This weaving never ends.

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