The Cloth God Weaves

A poem for Thanksgiving.

Every Tree

Every tree, every growing thing as it
grows, says this truth: You harvest what

you sow. With life as short as a half-
taken breath, don’t plant anything but

love. The value of a human being can
be measured by what he or she most deeply

wants. Be free of possessing things.
Sit at an empty table. Be pleased with

water, the taste of being home. People
travel the world looking for the Friend,

but that one is always at home! Jesus
moves quickly to Mary. A donkey stops

to take in the scent of another donkey.
There are simple reasons for what happens:

you won’t stay clear for long if you sit
with the one who pours wine. Someone

with a cup of honey in hand rarely has
a sour face. If someone says a eulogy,

there must be a funeral nearby. A rose
opens because she is the fragrance she

loves. We speak poems, and lovers down
the centuries will keep saying them.

The cloth God weaves doesn’t wear out.

—Rumi

Deborah

Deborah is K-12 educator who nurtures a healthy interest in reading, writing, running, ethics, mystics, and interfaith dialogue.

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  1. Caroline says:

    Deborah, I love this. Thanks for posting it.

  2. Tatiana says:

    13th c. Islamic mystic poets ftw! =)

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