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Poem

That was the day for the members, to gather in a room in the local library
The knitting club has one weekly day, past noontime to the evening session
That was the usual day for them to join together with their knitting tools 
Round the clock, they all meet and greet one another, and knit together.
 
Her friend found her in her spot, she was knitting with a soft whitish wool 
Moments of knitted patterns of a softer white, with whitish grids, formed 
Her friend noticed her busy hands, those knitting with swiftness, much care
She did find a delicate pattern of networks, there, created one after another.
 
She greeted the friend, as her friend will be joining the club for the first time
And she showed her a beautiful sweater. “It is seventeen years old.” She said.
The new member took the handmade sweater, she touched that delicate piece
“Seventeen years, too long a time!” She smiled. She could  feel the oldness.
 
On that very moment, she was thinking about something else, simultaneously
A flashy moment about life along seventeen years, along with past and present
A span of seventeen years, in happy and sad moments, she could almost sense
That her life had a lot to tell her, while looking back at those pearls of moments.

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