What holds meaning deep within,

In the heart, in the flesh’s essence?

Amidst the fleeting, transient flow,

Where instant whims come and go,

They fail to take root within.

Not crafted by contrived intention,

But born of pure will's flow.

It may seem inefficient and slow,

Demanding effort and time,

Yet each labor, each passing hour,

Amongst the scraps, the fertile ground,

In time, it takes root within me and grows.

I make garments from discarded scraps,

Embrace nature's cycle, where creation starts.

Through every step, every stitch I make,

It is an encounter with my life, face to face.

They're personal experiments to find roots in my being, to firmly grow.