She said it was a shawl of many hues,
Like Joseph’s coat, a gift to be bestowed.
And, so, between her busy hands emerged
A thing as soft and pure as love can make
When spirits do not do the casting on.
She teased the clicking needles through the yarn,
The green and blue and silver flowed and fused;
Like mother’s arm around a child wrapped,
A shield to span the shoulders, pull them in,
Secure the warmth and keep the chill at bay.
When Joseph wandered off in search of flocks
His brothers watched, and fumed, and then conspired.
“Here comes the dreamer” each to other said.
So prophecy is done, and God revealed,
When angels knit and dreamers go afield.
