Sweaters Poem by Grace Petry

I could knit 48 sweaters
with all the wool to be received
from the restless nights of counting
sheep instead of dreams.
Garments soft as down
of a gosling novel and pure
envelope me in solace.
Adored. Content. Secure.
They warm my Arctic heart
like a babe upon the breasts
Embrace my soul and body.
Nurture me with rest.
The shepherd does not search
for his evading flock.
With intent, the gate left open
revealed a path unblocked.
To forgo his pittance
meant true prosperity gained.
His prerogative was ambition
to mend a heart before waned.
In him I find a mirror
reflecting a sky of cyan and light.
The sky contains no clouds.
They exist in flocks at night.
"Come and gather your sheep"
I plead, kneeled at his feet.
"For I am not worthy"
from broken throat I bleat.
In love I have forever failed,
crashing in the curves.
Why provide me a straight path
to love I don't deserve?
With haste my shepherd answered,
hesitation there is none.
"My soul, it quakes at morning
when your eyes open with the sun.
Shall you grant me the privilege
to marry my passion and your trust,
your heart shall never shiver.
Your pain I'll turn to dust.
My fire will warm your soul
and be your iron when you bleed.
I'll always send my sheep, my Love,
until a sweater you do not need."