Wool and Flax
Two strands we were: one wool, one flax,
mismatched but woven, entwined,
one thread.
Fibers twisted together by providence,
one small patch forming
on the Maker’s tapestry. Who knows
where threads may lead
or what delicate patterns He may design?
Though strands divide and loop apart,
decorations prepared for plans unknown,
might they join once more?
His hands weave to and fro
and work our loom
of yesterday and today.
Tomorrow, perhaps, we converge again
if we cut not the thread with a knife
of “farewell.”
Tags: fellowship, friendship, mismatching, walking
No Broadcast, Personal, Poetry | Christopher Kou | 
April 21, 2010 11:18 PM
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Beautiful. Thank you, Chris, Lexi.