My head is buried in my
yarn basket (ok, one of
my yarn baskets because
I am pretty much just
made of yarn at this point).
I am muttering about colors
and color sequences
and do I have enough time.
Christmas, despite all the hype,
sneaks up on a crafter
like one of those thieves
in the night.
And into my head
(the one in the yarn basket)
comes the image of the babe.
I know he comes to
set the prisoner free,
but right now I want to
take a squishy skein
of Bernat Baby yarn
and swaddle him safe
from danger.
If I could, I would
swaddle us all.
Come, let’s sit by
my yarn baskets because
I am pretty much just
made of yarn at this point).
I am muttering about colors
and color sequences
and do I have enough time.
Christmas, despite all the hype,
sneaks up on a crafter
like one of those thieves
in the night.
And into my head
(the one in the yarn basket)
comes the image of the babe.
I know he comes to
set the prisoner free,
but right now I want to
take a squishy skein
of Bernat Baby yarn
and swaddle him safe
from danger.
If I could, I would
swaddle us all.
Come, let’s sit by
the Christmas tree
underneath this
blanket
that I made, and sing
songs about the babe
until we feel peace
again.
Let’s sing songs about
the babe
until we feel joy.
Dana & Mike Rhyne
Christmas 2019
(o)
ReplyDeleteLoved your poem. Thanks for the card. <3
ReplyDelete