And in the dream, she whispers still,
Gran present with her smile,
I saw the web stretched out before,
wov’ mile after mile.

And on the web the spiders danced,
grandmothers to us all,
and as they danced the web grew strong,
and others heard the call.

Why do you weave, she asked them close,
what purpose do you serve?
To hold, to mend, to draw as one,
came back the sacred word.

Then down she looked, to her surprise,
felt strands within her grasp,
and knew that with each step she took
the web was held more fast.

One cautious step and with a breath
she cast the lines before her,
not one or two, but anchored strong,
each step with roots and sinew.

Come sing with us, the spiders called,
come let us weave together,
with threads of love and light and peace,
the ones that hold together.

And so she did, and so she does,
and so may you, my friend.
Speak soft the words, or call them loud,
the web of life to mend.

And as you spin, go forth the strands,
observe them in their splendor,
and know with each, the other hands,
the web we hold together.

So soft the chant and yet it grows,
around the world it echoes,
’til rock and tree and sand and sea
take up the glad repost.

As one we weave, as one we grieve,
as one we share our joy,
the words hold fast, sure grant reprieve,
on every girl and boy.

So step you light, with rhythmic gait,
with purpose shall we stride,
while from her place she smiles with love,
we bask in Mother’s pride.


(C) 2016 Mary Batson, FrontPorchRambles.com. All rights reserved – that said, please share!
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