Had you a dream that has spun you around?

One that seemed so surreal and yet somehow profound?

A whirlwind of whimsey with whispers of woe,

A tug at your heartstrings that pulls you in tow?

Or maybe you woke from no dreaming at all, just faint fading glimpses too hard to recall.

Remnants of visions swept up and away, or fresh surfaced memories insistin’ to stay.

Well, gather you well and we’ll spin you a tale

Of a spirit so steadfast and true

That soul who has gone near a century on

Beckoning dreamers like you

Up in the those ridges that touch the sky, she sits and she sews until sunrise is nigh

Stitch after stitch, she carries along, constantly humming her heart’s endless song

She lived in those hills before ‘pavers’ and drills

Had ripped that poor peak up in twain

Though she wasn’t the first,

and some had far worse

That’s the cost of crossin’ the grain

Singing old soul, carrying all

That which you thought you would be

Take a deep breath and let go of what’s passed

If it’s weighing you more than should be

The Weaver, they call her, whenever her holler‘s heard echoing over the glen

With all that she’s stored, and who knows what’s more

Her hope's in her needle in thread

So - sew - sew it along

Whisper your dream to me

That which is lost isn’t always all gone

Stitched into memory

She takes pieces of her mem’ries,stitches them in line.

Prayin’ that with this act, she can stall time.

She carries a load and if truth, it be told

Its unknown how far on it goes

She found there her callin’ by hemmin’ not hawin’

No matter how large her haul growed

With what once had been crumpled, tattered, and torn,

She found she could make something fully transformed

A patchwork of hist’ry, this myst’ry unfolds

As it covers the valleys and hills

Each piece in each space holds a time and a place

A moment in time stood still

So - sew - sew it along

Whisper your dream to me

That which is lost isn’t always all gone

Stitched into memory

The strangest thing of all, though,

is when she’s singing while she sews,

With each stitch in tidy rows,

As the notes all start do-si-do,

Magic then begins to flow,

Up above and down below,

and somewhere else that we don’t know

But one thing that is plain to see

Is it makes for quite a jubilee

Countless as the needles pine

They enter your dreams just like mine

Every night a new display

But here’s the ones we’ll share today

An engineer in his reclining chair was a-drifting into dream

He dreamt him up a big garage that held a big machine

It churned and choked great clouds of smoke, yet seemed to hum a tune

It was rolling out the biscuit dough with Maggie’s apron on

Then it was gone, gone, gone with the dawn to be sewn into memory

Out stretched an old gardener to slumber off her toils

As in the day she finds her way to dream of seed and soil

Down where weeps the willow tree, she spied a strange new plant

Though small as a pea, she could plainly see its leaves were underpants

Then it was gone, gone, gone with the dawn to be sewn into memory

All tuckered out from schooling and from vigorous hours of play

Young Jimmy Lee found in his dreams himself a castaway

His island felt so much like home, with oak and dogwood trees

But the clouds up above were a drifting drove of ragged old dungarees

Then they were gone, gone, gone with the dawn to be sewn into memory

A painter sneaking snoozes at her easel late at night

Was meeting with her muses when arrived a strange new sight

The subject was a turtle, who performed a pirouette

He wore a fine silk girdle and has not stopped spinning yet

Then he was gone, gone, gone with the dawn to be sewn into memory

A banker in his nightgown, a-bedding down to sleep

Would tend to count dollar bills instead of counting sheep

He counted up a thousand, and then a thousand more,

But what he never counted on was what came through his door

It was a biscuit excavator in an apron humming tunes

A plant of underpants and a cloud of dungaroos denim blues?

and a turtle in a girdle turnin’ like a tilt-a-whirl

Then they were gone, gone, gone with the dawn to be sewn into memory

So - sew - sew it along

Whisper your dream to me

That which is lost isn’t always all gone

Stitched into memory

Windswept with wonder, they'll wake from their slumber

Her call echoing into their ears.

No one quite knowing just what they'd seen

But how they all felt could mean only one thing

The weaver had called them, the visions enthralled them

She called m while deep in their dream

(Though the dreamers may change, the story’s the same)

(Through the tumultuous whirlwind, new parts of their soul laid bare.. new connections with parts of their past… and a weight lifted of things being let go)

These pieces we hold, some tattered, some torn

Remind us what we’ve gathered since our first morn

That which you long for or sing a sad song for,

May some day pop out of the blue

So no use begrudgin', or growin' curmudgeon

When all you ought mend for is you

Remember the good and selvage the bad

Weave in the weft, and take what is left

So - sew - sew it along

Whisper your dream to me

That which is lost isn’t always all gone

Stitched into memory

So If'n you wake in the dark of the night

And you hear a faint call on the breeze

Look to the sky and you may see the lights

In search of lost memories

Or the visions that soar, up and into and o’er

That wonderful weaver of dreams