The balls of yarn are all lined up,
By color and by weight.
The knitters check them out, deciding
What they might create -
A sweater, scarf or pom-pom hat,
A blanket or a vest.
Whichever they select I know
I'm bound to be impressed.
For as in "Rumpelstiltskin"
When the straw turns into gold,
A skein of wool made wearable's
A mystery to behold.
I stare at all the choices
Though I cannot quite envision
The transition, via needles,
To the vest of my decision.
Still, at last, I make a purchase
And, will wonders never cease,
Once my aunt performs her magic,
I will wear my masterpiece.
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