Muse in My Yarn
Full of color, yards of magic abound;
In baskets, boxes and trees all around.
Such a feeling I have never enough.
Do I imply that I could need more stuff?
Two or three more cones or skeins wouldn’t hurt,
Not like taking huge helpings of dessert.
Without touching its lingering fine thread
Wonder escapes me in this late, late hour;
My imagination a lifeless flower.
Like a Greek daughter presiding over art,
Morpheus releases my memory,
Spinning my threads like thunderbolts in parts.
But it is not the needles I seek out,
Only the yarn that I have dreamt about.

A sonnet by Kathy Pearson
Cordova, TN. U.S.