MUSE 1: THE WEAVERS LOOM

I string these words,
like beads on a string.
I stir with a ladle,
like a broth in a stew pot.
stringing it with love,
watching it bubble.

Bloom I say,
blooming I see,
the power of your string of word.
I watch it flow,
cascading like fresh water, on a cool evening sunset.

I am the WEAVER,
I weave words,
stringing them like beads.
The pen is my loom
the paper my frame and the ink my wool.

I spin words that heal, liberate and chastise.

Spring I see,
blooming I say.
I string,
I stir,
I watch,
I leap,
I fly,
I soar…with the power of your word.