lint collector

A lint collector
Is to be my calling
I do not weave the tapestry
I do not cut the threads
I do not wind
The shuttles
But I find
The lint
The scraps cut
The threads worn bare
The tiniest spectators of life
And I cherish them
I hold them in my arms
And weep
Upon their barren bodies
Until they swell
And connect
I make felt
With them
A mesmerizing piece of felt
A blanket to soothe the shunned
The cloth that wipes the tears
Of angels
The shroud of glory
And I find peace
As they are laid upon the tapestry
Filling in the holes of war
Oh, the meek
The weak and weary meek
The holders of future and past
The textiles of felt
Waiting to be held
Held up
So, they can hold on
And rebuild the world
Cherished and blessed are the meek
For they will inherit the world
Saving it by peace
Blessed piece

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