A poetic piece of knitting

a poem by Christine Anne Shaw, UK

With patience at the age of five,
she learned to knit and then to sew.
While on her Grandma's ample lap
she worked the stitches, saw them grow
into a never ending scarf,
and often oops, another drop.
The needles were so hard to hold,
when holes appeared she had to stop.

Frustrated by her own mistakes,
dear Gran would soon sort out the hitch.
When fixed she'd work at quicker pace
and count the numbers stitch by stitch.
If other mishaps should occur
she'd smile and rescue, use first aid.
Purl patterns came, cast on, cast off
and soon two bootees had been made.

Increasing step by step her skills,
she carried on 'til sibling four.
Then for her husband and their child,
too soon it turned into a chore.
No longer knitting for the young,
she looks instead and buys online.
With other hobbies on her mind
her homemade knits no longer shine.

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