I wrote this poem in 2004 about my Mum who is known as knitting Jean for her multi-coloured sweaters. I never did learn to knit though. every time I tried Mum ended up finishing it off.

Knitting’s a middle-aged sport I’d scoff,
As my mother knitted,
Multi coloured sweaters
That never really fitted,
All grown from scraps of wool,
Passed from other knitting bags
That got too full.

If I start knitting it’ll be a shawl,
To keep my ancient body warm,
I always warned my parent,
And never did relent,
When her gentle persuasion
Failed to coax me to knit
A multi coloured waistcoat,
(I always bet it wouldn’t fit!)

My babies came, Mum knitted bold,
A rainbow baby’s a joy to behold,
I told her I’d no desire to match,
But she got on with knitting the surplus
From a newly donated batch!

The babies grew, went off to school,
I flick through mags on the kitchen stool,
Oh! That’s so pretty in orange and plum,
I grab the phone and ring up Mum.

‘Get round here quick,
I need to learn your knitting tricks,
There’s a pattern in a woman’s weekly,
It can be knitted up quite cheaply,
Yes, you did hear right, I’m picking up those sticks.’

Knit one, purl one, middle age at thirty-six!



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Tags: Knitting

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