He knits, he pearls,
a needle of particular loops,
that garment maker does gauge,
counts those stitches before he whirls.
She crochets, she looms,
her hooking leaves no room,
this garment maker does sew,
the single crochet an the slip stitch so.
They create the shroud,
to cover like a white cloud,
bring warmth to thy body,
no the blanket isn't gaudy.
They hook n' stitch,
an sew in a pinch,
for fruits of afghans and quilts,
is the prize of the Garment Makers.
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Poem / True Confessions
Poem / War and Military
Poem / Poetry
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