I began as a bloom of cotton

I began as a bloom of cotton,

outdoors.  Then they brought me to a room

where they washed me.  Then the hard strokes

of the carder's wife.  Then another woman

spun thin threads, twisting me

around her wheel.  Then the kicks

of the weaver's loom made cloth, 

and on the washing stone, washermen

wet and slung me about

to their satisfaction, whitened me

with earth and bone,

and cleaned me to my own 

amazement.  Then the scissors

of the tailor, piece by piece,

and his careful finishing work.

Now, at last, as clothes,

I find You and freedom.

This living is so difficult

before one takes your hand.

~Lalla
from Naked Song