In the loom of time, threads intertwine,
Each moment stitched with a design,
Not lost in years, not veiled in haze,
For God’s hand leads through all the days.
The first thirty-seven—like whispers soft,
Not trials of choice, but a soul aloft,
Guided by grace, by purpose unseen,
Every step, though veiled, has been.
Through joy and sorrow, through paths unsure,
Each thread is woven, strong and pure.
The choices we make, the ones we regret,
Are part of the plan we have not met.
For in His eyes, all time’s embrace,
The past, the present, every trace,
Is but one moment in endless song,
Where we, His children, belong.
And though we wander, searching wide,
His light will never leave our side.
The years unfold, with meaning bright—
For in His hands, all paths are right.
The Divine Weave
© Copyright: Принцалександр, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125040408803
Свидетельство о публикации №125040408803
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