Drawn from every quarter, on the rack, this life,
Slow and sure, He stretches, our sinew, thin and fine.
Til the point of tearing, ah, wounding of our pride,
A stitch, poor ego mended, nature by trial, refine.
~ D.F.

“For He wounds, but He binds up; He strikes, but his hands give healing.”
~ Job 5:18

16 thoughts on “Stitch

  1. Pingback: Mirrored Poetic Form | Lexy's Litblog

  2. Love the texture in this photo, and the thought of refinement. Stretching may hurt a bit, but then comes healing.


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