Cradle to Grave, we’re swathed in them,
blanket’s of wool, down, feathers or cotton,
of river water, storm clouds, and snow.
Mothers weave blankets of love and gentleness,
Fathers armor them with fierceness and fire.
Cradle to Grave we’re searching for them,
Blankets of comfort, warmth, kindness or smiles,
of laughter, happiness, and joy.
Lovers knit blankets of romance and wonder,
Friends garnish them with fun and memories.
Cradle to Grave we’re fighting against them,
Blankets of hatred, jealousy, nerves or shame,
of sorrow, loss, and harrowing pain.
We unfold blankets of us, for us,
Cradle to Grave, we’re swathed in them.