Patchwork man, patchwork man,

let me be your seamstress

I would thread your heart together so tight

All the edges would be seamless

A fresh piece of fabric I would use for you

A symbol of my presence

Every year I would add to the patch careful not to rip it

Silk or satin

Cotton and wool

Everything would be hand woven

Aware of the patches that have come loose

I would surely be glad to close them

Although this seamstress could sew well

As if her cloths were brand new

Her patches that have fallen apart

Would need some work done too

The time that has passed has worn down her fabric

It’s in need of being re-stitched

But up until now, no one was worth

The time it takes to mend it

The patch that she would give to you

Seems tailor made for hers

Because all the needles that she once knew had only left her hurt

My hands have grown tired

My fingers are sore

From holding the needle steady

So I was wondering if I could hold the patch

While I watch you delicately thread it

Patchwork man, patchwork man will you be my seamstress

My thread has come loose

I’ve left it just for you

Please come sit down and repair it.

That’s my word.

Peace.

Poetry