A web of life we spin from day to day, We gather up our tangled bits of thread And try to weave them into patterns gay, Bright gold for joy, but sometimes crossed with red Of anger, or the grey of sorrow's hue, Or green for restfulness, and pink for glee; All woven on the background of deep blue, The color of our faith and loyalty. Sometimes in weaving all these colors clash, And seem as if they cannot, will not blend, Yet, as we weave the pattern seems less rash, Until we find it perfect at the end. A record of our grief and joy and strife Is woven in our tapestry of life. |