She
said it was a shawl of many hues,
Like
Joseph’s coat, a gift to be bestowed,
Until
between her busy hands emerged
A
thing as soft and pure as love can make
When
spirits do not do the casting on
And
as she teased the needles through the yarn
The
green and blue and silver flowed and fused
Down
unexpected alleys colors swept
Because
we live in disregard of lineThe pattern is the pattern we compose
When
Joseph wandered off in search of flocks
His
brothers watched, and fumed, and then conspired
“Here
comes the dreamer” each to other saidSo prophecy is done and God revealed
When
angels knit, and dreamers go afield
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