Memory of My Soul: A Poetry Collection

The Tapestry

I looked at my tapestry and wept,

For there were crisscrossed threads

And here were frayed ends left loose,

No lovely picture revealed, only a mess

Twisted up, all jumbled ugly colors.

I saw no order, a designless mistake

And I cried to the Weaver in despair.

Then, patiently, He took my hand

And we walk around the weaving

To see the other side of the tapestry;

Then I wept with amazed joy,

For there was a picture so lovely,

Of redemption undeserved and so sweet

 And I was wiser, having seen both sides.