You are the weaver of skill with words
thus you take from all the letters found
alone to make feelings result in what is left
from what others threw upon the ground.

You touch not the keys today with blind intent
to create a blanket warm or story but a feeling
as each stroke you make is unfamiliar until done
and then you just keep on and on the word reeling.

Your sacred spindle never stops even at night
when others are fast asleep on you weave
the blessings of life into a thought to reveal
what others are thinking when happy or to grieve.

The subject is not the matter or what or whom
if it was you would never a confidence betray
for each poem is somewhere found from others
sisters and brothers needing you to enter the fray.

The weaver of words into feelings of life's blessings
do you ever stop to considered what you've done
is it of little consequence of what goes on around you
others playing, dancing, partaking of all of life's fun?

No you don't even know how much it is you do just now
for how could someone counsel and tell you to be still
thus the words you weave today, tomorrow will still be true
and all you say when people ask is, "It's only Fathers will."