We are made of whole cloth
by our own deft hands. Bolts
and reams of rough cotton and
wool, raw silk, nature. And
nurture: spanking gorgeous
textiles and patterns, tweed,
houndstooth, twill. We feed
and feel this warp and weft
in us, as we grow. It shrinks
to fit until we outgrow it and
we split. We cut and stitch
it tight again, each time.
It splits again. We cut and eye
and choose and find to shape
and make what suits our kind.
Our kind of one, we're tailoring.
So much whole cloth. Such styles
and tones and forms we make
to be, each time we grow
and split. So to begin.
A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.
but aren't they all random?
Sunday, June 27, 2021
whole cloth
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