Ilene Bauer Poet Rhyme

Rows of Stitches

I watch the magic happening 
As yarn becomes a shawl;
The knitting needles of my aunt
Are at her beck and call.

Her fingers wind the wool around 
Without her even thinking
And rows and rows of stitches show
Without her even blinking.

Her expertise is such that
I just really can't compare it,
But best of all is when she's done, 
Then I will get to wear it!

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Robert Johnson September 19, 2017 at 9:52 PM This kinda makes me jealous, what a wonderful therapy this would be. They truly do seem to do it as a second nature. The same way you write poetry. :) Ilene Bauer September 20, 2017 at 12:14 PM I love that comment, Robert! Thank you for saying that...

Arthur Vaso September 15, 2017 at 10:55 PM Lovely, I have an Afgan my mother made when I was a child, still have it!

Maurice Rigoler September 15, 2017 at 6:41 PM Hahaha! So it's worth the wait! All my mother's sisters were taught to knit, quilt, and crotchet. I remember as a boy how they'd gather one evening a week to work on a large quilt, or separately make lace-fringed doilies, or pot holders and aprons. No scraps of cloth were thrown away. Your poem brought back memories. Thanks. / M