These children weavethrough the warp of my prayerskeins of what they really areshuttling through my heartfrom tree house to closetfrom faucet to swingsfrom attic to cellarmy loom all day long singsImmanuelImmanuelImmanuel—not demandingI unthreadthis handiwork of hometo tabernacle with God—but letting all I dofor His little onesenlarge the borders of loveseamlessly.
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