Today's post is a poem written several years ago about the feeling of "sisterhood" (brothers welcome) among crocheters--around the world and throughout time.
She holds her hook just like me,
yarn passing through her hands.
She is very close to me
though perhaps in a distant land.
Yarn over, insert hook,
is she using blue or red?
Is her pattern in a book,
or a memory in her head?
Does she spin her own wool
from sheep she grazes on the hills?
Does she create for pleasure,
or crochet to pay the bills?
I don't know, we've never met,
perhaps we will some day;
and I'm sure I'll recognize her..
my "sister in crochet".