The Yarn Addict

Tissue paper falls away to reveal gun metal silver, hand dyed in Wales,
"Songs and Sonnets" is its name, poetry disguised as the silkiest of yarns.
At the back of a souvenir shop in Vik, walls of Icelandic sheep wool, Alafoss,
Fuzzy, rugged and beautiful, fed by lava grass, blueberry flowers and Icelandic rain.


A parcel of azure blue mohair, imported from Turkey,
A wound ball of Mediterranean sky in my bedroom.
Cabaret, gratefully received in a birthday bag, frivolously sparkly and purple,
waiting for a chance to be the star of a pattern.

Guiltily purchased Debbie Bliss, elegant, antique rose cashmere
Expecting to become lacy mittens fit for a Victorian Lady.
Nutmeg from Spain, now "discontinued". Candyfloss soft and glints of gold
Happily rehomed in a crochet addict's bedroom in England.


Skye wool, multi-coloured and soft. Rainy skies, heather and a castle
of a Scottish holiday an age ago remembered.
Down to earth acrylics, in cheerful pink and brash red.
Indispensible and cheap, a yarn junkie's affordable fix.

I touch and admire the balls laid out in their careful exhibition,
I see a spring scarf and graceful mittens,
a useful cream bowl, a lacy shawl,
A Ravenclaw book cover and a chubby teddy bear
A ribboned hat and a hot pink corsage to brighten my day.
Stitch by stitch,
Brought to life by me, their creator.