She writes: "As I enjoy adding leaves from the garden to the compost, I am reminded of this poem written by a boyfriend (Bill Langer)in the 60's. I actually found it which is pretty much a miracle."
Here is the poem. How appropriate for these days of turning fall to winter light.
The weaver bent over,
age showing in hands
worn by threads of time,
selects colors to weave,
crosses patterns of lives,
asking what is now
admiring what is past.
Always connecting life
with threads of experience
knowing the future is hope
reinforced by the past.
And the life blue filament,
crossed before, will again
cross those left behind.
Happy weaving, and I hope you are still quacking tooooooo!
