Willow-Weaving Poem by Michael Morris
Willow-Weaving
To cruel, hard hands,
The willow will not yield.
To force it is to break it.
It must be lead, gently,
To obey its own nature,
To achieve its own destiny.
Then will emerge a shape with purpose.
Form will mirror function
And the basket will be content.
Fulfilled in its own existence.
Unique.
As with the soul of a child.
My husbands aunt used to make beautiful baskets, in all shapes and sizes, with cane and willow, they were beautiful. I did some backet weaving at school many years ago, but I still love baskets, they are very alive things. A super poem about them. Love Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/3/2024 5:00:20 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This Man knows what he's talking about, I have one of his 'contented' baskets, and there is soul in this poem Michaeleen.