© 2015 Vernon Miles Kerr
The weaver’s loom,
The weaver’s loom.
Threads of color,
Warp and woof.
Shuttle flying left and right
Beater slamming , through the night.
Lady Liberty on the bench
Kicking the treadles
Like organ pedals.
With nimble hands,
She plucks the falling strands
Out of the air, tying them in,
Nimbly catching them as they come,
Tying them in without a thought.
Dare no one judge the finished cloth.
Its mottled gradient is her diary,
She recites every line, every thread.
She loves it as a child.
While others mock, she caresses the folds,
Then turns again to her labor of love,
Plucking at the floating strands.
Tying them in. Tying them in.
The beater, slamming once again.