poet & painter
THREAD OF GOLD
We are all but a stitch in a square mile quilt,
That God has sewn together,
An indivisible bond with a weave so close,
Our mortal parting cannot sever,
Yet, much varied are the strands of life
and diverse are their ilk,
Some are born of artless yarn,
And some of fine spun silk,
Some flee the spindle dark and course,
sad shadows to beget,
Other flush the scene with stroke of light,
and live without regret,
Some are crossed in all they do,
and let the mantle slip,
Some bind firm will never yield,
while others cede the grip,
Some are sewn to be unseen ,
And some to stand out bold
Mike Adamson, was blessed as such,
For his thread was woven gold,
A landmark that would never alter,
A constant in an uncertain world,
A giving hand that would never falter,
A straight stitch among the frayed and curled,
A lantern in the darkest hour,
An assured beacon at the harbour bar,
Moonlight on an unknown road,
A compass point, the bright North Star,
We are all but a stitch in a square mile quilt,
That god has sewn together,
But some return the light of gold,