joan-weaving-crop

She Who Weaves

She who weaves
Sits at the loom of life
The door between the worlds falls open

Reality or illusion is her choice
And at the loom time disappears
As past and future cease and there is only now

At her feet in a cradle a baby lies,
Symbol of rebirth and of new life
And at her side the alchemist’s pots of gold
From which she draws her rainbow coloured threads

The shuttle in her hand is blessed
“All is well” ┬áHer work begins
And slowly with much love
She works the cloth in which the many become One…