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Compulsive Knitter
I am a professional knitter, she said at her front door.
As if we could not guess it, we could barely see her floor.
Yarm was everywhere, in magnificent colors galore.
Variegated, twisted, baby soft, a knitted band aide on her sore.
Afghans piled high on couches were sleeping with a snore.
We knew she could make herself happy from here to forevermore.
Copyright ©
Caren Krutsinger
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