Quietly Sewing

A seamstress rests within our minds,
waiting 'til we seek to find.
Comfort from a hole in heart,
a rip that threatens, tear apart.
 
She mends the breach, least for now,
'til those we love repair somehow.
Then life again is clean and fresh,
when gazing on our true love's face.
 
We wonder if we've made mistake,
if another should be our fate, and
again the tear begins to spread,
but she is there with pins and thread.
 
Life is but a patch worked art,
sewn with memories from the heart.
And, butterflies are only doubt, and
I wish you friend to live without.