Yarn Rubaiyat

Faced with such bounty it’s so hard to choose

I call out to my Grandfather’s woolen muse

To match the concepts rattling my brain;

To make my vision and my small skills fuse.

My fingers pass to each delicious skein,

Some red as blood, some blue as skin deep vein,

The jewel tones sing out, my heart is fed,

I pick, replete, an instinct deep, arcane.

At home I wind the yarn, while in my head

I am composing afghans, for our bed

A knit, a purl, a pattern will emerge

I smile an eager smile for what’s ahead.

7/27/20