Silent listeners who weave us hope and dreams.
In Olde Arrington there was a store,
a quiet little place.
There were yarns and needles and so much more
and that special handmade lace.
The shoppe was known to all the folk
that dreams were always heard,
by weavers who listened and never spoke
when they heard those wistful words.
The ladies took up fragile threads
and wove in spells and prayers.
Soon a veil of lace would grace a head,
made up of many layers.
The old shoppe closed up long ago.
The weavers moved away.
They sent a note so I would know,
here’s what they had to say.
“The time has come for us to leave,
others need our lace.
That’s what we do; that’s why we weave.
We try to help the human race.”
“Into your special lace we wove,
hopes and dreams and laughter.
But one thing we must tell.
When you pass it to your daughter,
there will be magic for her as well.”