Graphic by Billie
Small Strands
There’s something about string, and yarn, that binds a woman’s life.
Perhaps an instinctive bond that helps to get us through the strife.
What seems a passing fancy when you’re just a little girl,
May still excite you even though your hair has turned to pearl.
We’re bound to one another with small strands which we could snap,
Except they lead us to a source of strength that we can tap.
They bind a little girl into a net of learning ways,
To make things that express her love, and brighten up her days.
She’s caught up in the magic that the older woman spins,
Until she finds she’s stuck behind a forest of needles and pins.
Her own defensive fortress that will shield her from concern,
With a beneficial hobby that will still be fun to learn.
NicknamedBob . . . . . . . . . . . . . June 24, 2004
© 2004
