Re-Creating Peace
Re-Creating Peace
The basket of castoffs is full.
No one can wear clothes, torn and stained.
Holes and rips that show use.
The scissors cut them like butter,
sharp and straight and curved and cornered.
Blocks, strips, and flowers,
traced dreams of yesterday.
Gathered moments in thread,
bare now from overuse,
but not lack of love.
One row, then the next.
Adding weight and strength to the whole.
Hard to stitch at times,
running out of thread, at too high a price.
Conserved for tomorrow, to feed us.
Re-use, re-make, re-think, re-own...
all grown now.
A tradition passed down...
one generation to the next.
The treasure of a family tree,
that includes you and even me.
Grandma taught me,
My aunt did it well.
My friend's mother was crippled,
but could double the length of every wire,
with a twist, no one else could achieve.
None are without perfection,
as His hand is seen in the piece work.
Sewn with young and aged hands,
to create peace in all lands.
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