The Loom

The peddlers of woe
Are bending their bows,
Filling their quivers with fears;
The weavers of doom
Are warping their looms
With the delicate threads of our tears;

They add warp and weft
With fingers so deft,
Creating their coats of despair,
While we shiver and wait
In our uncertain state
For a glimmer of hope to appear.

Those peddlers know well
That fear and woe sells,
Though it takes a sad toll on the soul;
What a price we all pay
When greed leads the way,
But there could be an alternate goal;

Let us pick up our shields
Where they lie in the fields
Of our dreams and our hopes for tomorrow,
And fend off the foe,
Tell those merchants of woe
That we don't want their weapons of sorrow.

What a beautiful garment
We all could create,
One incredibly vast in its scope;
Strong and divine,
To enfold all mankind,
On a loom strung with love, filled with hope.


Love is our shield
And hope is our loom
Edie Batstone