Hot Mess!

It's the day before Thanksgiving, and all through the house,
A yarn-bomb went off, even catching the spouse!
(He's wearing his new llama hat today :D)

Yards of wooley stuff stuck in the bags and the bins,
The cracks and the crevices,
The frowns and the grins.

I sat on the floor to make sense of this thing,
All fleece and roving,
Some natural with bling.

On spindles, on bobbins,
All loose and together,
I racked my brain to organize this endeavor.

Here's the problem I thought,
I have too much stuff.
I need to go through it,
It can't be that tough.

But alas, I'm still here,
And it's hours later.
Grand piles still dotting
The ground-zero crater.

I want to hang up my mitts in defeat,
The fingerless ones from the test pattern, (sweet!)

How on earth did I get here?
Stockpiling the fiber?
Could it be that I was a dyed roving subscriber...

As I sit here, procrastinating and typing this poem,
I realize






GET BACK TO WORK!!!!