Saturday, August 11, 2012

Another Wonderful Poem by Anonymous (with a few edits on my part)

The Weaver*

My life is but a weaving
Between Nature and me.
I cannot choose the colors;
But we work steadily.

Often we're weaving sorrow,
And I in foolish pride
Forget She sees the upper
And I, the underside.

Not till the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Shall She unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why.

The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern Nature planned. 

*A note: I altered this poem a bit, adapting it to my own thoughts and speech. The original author used the word "God" and "He" where I use "Nature" and "She."

Weaving on the Curve in 20/2 cotton

Sampling on 16 shafts with different wefts (top to bottom):  S-twist linen crepe, Z-twist silk crepe, 60/2 spun silk 16-shaft sample with 60...