It’s that time of the year! Christmas is a scant two weeks away and my project list of presents I want to make has not gotten any smaller! Do you ever do that? Overload yourself with too many projects that it’s literally impossible to complete them all in time? Even if you start during Thanksgiving??? *sigh*
Today, the Studio sent out their newsletter and in it was the cutest poem ever about a knitter and her unfinished projects… Thought I’d repost and share! Enjoy!
Knitter’s XMAS Eve…
by June (unknown last name)
Twas the night before XMAS and all around me
Was unfinished knitting not under the tree.
The stockings weren’t hung by the chimney with care
‘Cause the heels and toes had not a stitch there.
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
But I had not finished the caps for their heads.
Dad was asleep; he was no help at all,
And the sweater for him was six inches too small.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I put down my needles to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tripped over my yarn and fell down in my stash.
The tangle of yarn that lay deep as the snow
Reminded me how much I still had to go.
Out on my lawn I heard such a noise,
I thought it would wake both Dad and the boys.
And though I was tired, my brain a bit thick,
I knew in a moment it must be Saint Nick.
But what I heard then, left me perplex-ed
For not a name I heard was what I expected.
“Move Ashford, move Lopi, move Addi and Clover
Move Reynolds, move Starmore, move Froilich, move over!
Don’t circle ’round, stand in the line
Come now, you sheep will work out just fine!
I know this is hard, it’s just your first year,
I’d hate to go back to eight tiny reindeer.”
I peered over the sill; what I saw was amazing,
Eight woolly sheep on my lawn, all a-grazing. And then in a twinkle,
I heard at the door
Santa’s feet coming across the porch floor.
I rose from my knees and got back on my feet,
As I turned ’round Saint Nick I did meet.
He was dressed all in wool from his head to his toe,
And his clothes were hand knit from above to below.
A bright Fair isle sweater he wore on his back,
And his toys were all stuffed in an Aran knit sack.
His cap was a wonder of bobbles and lace
A beautiful frame for his rosy red face.
The scarf ’round his neck could have stretched for a mile,
And the socks peeking over his boots were Argyle.
The back of his mittens bore an intricate cable,
And suddenly on one I spied a small label.
‘S.C.’ was duplicate stitched on the cuff,
And I asked, “Hey, Nick, did you knit all this stuff?”
He proudly replied, “Ho, ho, ho, yes I did
I learned how to knit when I was a kid.”
He was chubby and plump, a quite well-dressed old man,
And I laughed to myself, for I’d thought up a plan.
I flashed him a grin and jumped up in the air,
And the next thing he knew he was tied to the chair.
He spoke not a word, but looked in his lap
Where I’d laid my needles and yarn for a cap.
He quickly began knitting, first one cap then two,
For the first time I thought I might really get through.
He put heels in the stockings and toes in some socks
While I sat back drinking scotch on the rocks.
So quickly like magic his needles flew
That he was all finished by quarter to two.
He sprang for his sleigh when I let him go free
And over his shoulder he looked back at me.
And I heard him exclaim as he sailed past the moon,
“Next year start your knitting sometime around June!”