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Jun

1

Knitting Poetry – Winding Wool

4 Comments

Winding Wool


by Robert Service


She’d bring to me a skein of wool

And beg me to hold out my hands;

so on my pipe I cease to pull

And watch her twine the shining strands

Into a ball so snug and neat,

Perchance a pair of socks to knit

To comfort my unworthy feet,

Or pullover my girth to fit.


As to the winding I would sway,

A poem in my head would sing,

And I would watch in dreamy way

The bright yarn swiftly slendering.

The best I liked were coloured strands

I let my pensive pipe grow cool . . .

Two active and two passive hands,

So busy winding shining wool.


Alas! Two of those hands are cold,

And in these days of wrath and wrong,

I am so wearyful and old,

I wonder if I’ve lived too long.

So in my loneliness I sit

And dream of sweet domestic rule . . .

When gentle women used to knit,

And men were happy winding wool.

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Comments

4 Comments so far

  1. cherylvirginiad on June 1, 2008 12:09 pm

    “Winding Wool” made me homesick and left a tear on my cheek. There is no reason for that still, simple, lifestyle to be gone. A path way has to exist, to have Robert Service’s words not to be lost in living rooms and kitchens; for us to enter again. Knitting is peaceful and loving. Keeping the family warm, home cooked suppers, the kids asleep, and husband and wife love and respect each other; their house is in order and their values are straight.
    In the poem, so plain, yet so perfect are wise words. “Winding Wool” is a yearning for days gone by and people that have passed. A beautiful tribute to wool and knitting. I really was touched and I want that time back, once more.
    Thank-you, Robert

  2. Knitting Poetry - Winding Wool | Knitting Club on June 4, 2008 6:51 am

    [...] Author: Knitting No tags for this post. [...]

  3. Sheryn on June 4, 2008 7:41 am

    I can remember my mom and dad both talking about doing this back in the days before “pull skeins”. They’d sit on my mom’s front porch and dad would hold out his hands with the yarn wrapped around them and mom would wind away. Of course, if it were a Sunday and Mom’s grandmother came walking up the hill, they’d have to stash the yarn and needles under the cushions on the swing. There was absolutely no knitting, crocheting or sewing on Sundays.

    Mom and Dad are both gone now ~ Mom before Dad. But this little poem brought back some fond memories and gave me a few tears.

    Thank you for posting this.

  4. whoknits on July 7, 2008 7:57 pm

    I just love this site , I have learned a lot from it!
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    whoknits

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