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You weave us sad songs on your loom,

O Weaver, or mayhaps a merry tune,

Or startle us or make us reach.

Like virtuosos of the harp

You pluck ~ magical design

From out your mind and store it on your strings.

With warmth and heart you pluck on weaver’s warp

A song of love in living color.

You design us hope to live by

And the spell that beauty kindles

As you weave us bold new fabrics.

In your head you’ve dreams today

To spark our eyes tomorrow.

Your dreams of soul—compelling beauty

Need no mind—impelling drugs.

Oh, would that I could be,

Yes, how I’d love to be

A dream—weaver.

          I’d dream a world of peace and love,         

Then flesh it out in warm reality.


 By Frank Ray Davis

of Zapopan, Jalisco, Mexico