I was stash diving, & found a poem I wrote nearly 10 years ago. Not that much has changed over the years - except for the inevitable increase in "stuff"!
I thought I'd share it with you:
My house is filled with stuff.
It has bags and bags of fleece.
Some are dyed and some are washed,
And some still in the grease.
There are half-knitted jumpers, half made rugs,
Even a cross-stitch or two,
(My problem is just, that I cannot walk past,
A wool shop without going ooooo!)
In the laundry there are buckets,
All soaking with water and wool,
The lounge it abounds, with pounds and pounds,
Of dripping skeins of wool.
There's a Lazy Kate, a wheel or two,
A basket or three (alright, lots),
Jelly crystals, plants outside,
And lovely big dyeing pots.
There are boxes of wool all wound into balls,
And mountains of patterns and books.
They're stacked into cupboards and shelves and nooks,
And there's more every time that I look.
The house is a mess, yes I have to confess,
That the beds go unmade (yes, it's true)
But I'm busy spinning and dyeing and knitting.
There's NOTHING that I'd rather do!