A Masterpiece

Spinning and weaving;
Weaving and spinning.
Spinning the thread so fine and tender,
Having to decide of which color to render.
The end of the thread,
pick a new vein,
Momentary dread,
Fear of finding the wrong grain.
Finally the thread finished and a beaut'.
Now to go the the loom and start the hoop.

Spinning and weaving;
Weaving and Spinning.
The lines all match,
Length and cross-hatch.
The colors combine,
Of blue, red, and green,
Following these hands of mine,
The patterns slowly can be seen.
Faith that all shall be well,
Hoping that nothing shall fail.

Spinning and weaving;
Weaving and Spinning.
A snag along the path,
brings to pass a momentary verbal wrath.
A breath quick and deep,
A pause to fingers crack,
Still the rewards yet to reap,
Focus to the work and back.
Fixing the snag and diligently being,
A feel of accomplishment wondrously freeing.

Spinning and weaving;
Weaving and spinning.
Success, the first part done,
The thread having all been run.
Realizing there is yet more to do,
Picking more material to get started,
Connecting the fibre and spinning true,
The harsh pieces to be parted. 
Again, the color to choose,
Hoping the sureness of them not to loose.

Spinning and weaving;
Weaving and spinning.
Colors holding as they aught,
Their beautiful sheen in the light caught.
Row to row the tressel passes,
Moving the pieces sliding the threads,
The added material helps amasses,
And then can be seen the bobbing flower heads.
One, two and the work is finished and done,
The satisfaction of the weaver won. 

Our own lives we weave, much like the fabric in this poem. Each choice we make decides the kind of wool or cotton that is then changed into the threads. Each choice, be it good or bad, decides the color, whether they become beautiful and vibrant or muggy and dingy. And yet more of our depth choices decide how the fabric of our lives are weaved together. This can make them smooth and soft or snag and tear the previously done work.
We can be more than we are.