Lingering Knot

The midnight hour stretches, long and thin,
A fraying edge where generations begin.
I hearken to the silence, deep and slow,
For whispers from the weft, of long ago,
A kindred spirit in the hearth's soft glow,
Where ancient patterns gently ebb and flow.

Oh, the lingering knot, though worn and old,
Holds truths no hurried word can ever hold.
It’s a comfort in the quiet, bittersweet,
A steady thread beneath my weary feet.

The cold wind combs the valleys, stark and bleak,
But warmth within these stitches, softly speaks.
A blanket passed down, bearing time's slow trace,
Each imperfection, God's enduring grace.
A silent prayer, for peace in this still place,
Reflecting wisdom on each weary face.

Sometimes the heart must unravel and grieve,
For old wisdom to unfurl, and believe.
A silent re-weaving, in the soul's deep keep,
Where solace gathers, though the waters sleep.

The loom of dawn will soon begin to gleam,
And mend this weary, quiet, waking dream.