And Yet
When soul strings
Tenderly touch,
Before barely
Twisting together toward
Ever's entwine,
Before The Weaver's nod,
Hearts know
It could come undone
A pile upon the floor,
And yet
They beat down the door
Of fear beyond,
And round and round they go
A blanket in the making
All by hand, don't ya know.
by J Alan R

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