Soft wool thread slides between her left fingers,
Leaving a gentle callus on the knuckle
As the time flies by.
The cold metal hook never quite warms
In her right hand, as it weaves
In and out, knotting.
Making a blanket,
Pale colours and soft yarn slide through
Through tender fingers and hope
That this will be a child’s’ favourite.
Making a hat and scarf,
In forest green and warm wool
Hoping these won’t get lost
On the bus, or forgotten at work.
Making a throw
For the couch or a bed
Neutral colours and heavy, thick wool
For reading under or sharing.