Beneath the colored canopy,
At the roadside stand,
The basket weaver weaves her trade..
Her labors well displayed.
Baskets of all sizes,
From large to very small..
Woven with palmetto leaves,
Her hands are cut and torn.
She cuts and strips palmetto leaves,
Fitting them to size..
The fit to be just right.
She hums a tune while working,
A song I do not know..
And with a smile,
And than a laugh..
She sings aloud her song.
She sings her praise to Jesus,
She sings about the Lord..
She sings about her blessings,
No malice in her songs.
Her hands in constant motion,
Weaving as she sings..
Her love of God is woven..
Woven in each piece.
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