Ode to a Box
Oh box!
Big, beautiful, cubical box.
When you arrived on my doorstep last April, you were full.
Full of soft, squishy, carefully packed yarny goodness.
Now you're almost empty, your contents used in several warm, woolly projects.
Some went into a big circular afghan that looks sort of like the stained glass window of a cathedral.
Some went into afghan squares that will eventually bring warmth to people of the Oglala Sioux tribe in South Dakota.
Some went into hats to grace the heads of warriors who served our Country.
You will be going into the recycling bin, flattened and folded to take up less room.
I will miss you box.
You will be gone but not forgotten.
The afghan will remind me of you every time I look at it.
Big, beautiful, cubical box.
When you arrived on my doorstep last April, you were full.
Full of soft, squishy, carefully packed yarny goodness.
Now you're almost empty, your contents used in several warm, woolly projects.
Some went into a big circular afghan that looks sort of like the stained glass window of a cathedral.
Some went into afghan squares that will eventually bring warmth to people of the Oglala Sioux tribe in South Dakota.
Some went into hats to grace the heads of warriors who served our Country.
You will be going into the recycling bin, flattened and folded to take up less room.
I will miss you box.
You will be gone but not forgotten.
The afghan will remind me of you every time I look at it.