The Weaver's Call

Beneath the stars’ eternal gaze,
A fleeting thread through mortal days,
We hold the loom, the sacred art,
To weave the soul’s undying heart.

No mere claim to grace divine,
Can bind the blessing to the vine.
Its roots run deep, its truth demands
A knowing heart, and working hands.

Each choice a stitch, each deed a hue,
The pattern forms in all we do.
To champion the self, we dare
To see the infinite in prayer.

The fleeting fades, the moments fall,
Yet eternity’s within our call.
With every breath, we weave, we mend,
The sacred now, the without end.