Thursday, July 15, 2010

Spinning . . . rhymes through time

There are few things as satisfying as creating beautiful objects out of the most basic materials.  Spinning raw and natural wool . . . making beautiful yarn . . . is one of those things. It is truly a simple pleasure and the outcome can be amazing.


Cross patch, draw the latch,
Sit by the fire and spin;
Take a cup and drink it up,
Then call your neighbours in.


Twinkle twinkle pretty spindle,
Let the white wool drift and dwindle;
Oh! We weave a damask doublet
For my love's coat of steel.
Hark! The timid turning treadle
Crooning soft old fashioned ditties,
To the low, slow murmur of the brown, round wheel.


Six little mice sat down to spin;
Pussy passed by and she peeped in.
What are you doing, my little men?
Weaving coats for gentlemen.
Shall I come in and cut off your threads?
No, no, Mistress Pussy, you'd bite off our heads.
Oh, no I'll not; I help you to spin.
That may be so, but you don't come in.


There was an old woman sat spinning,
And that's the first beginning;
She had a calf,
And that's half;
She took it by the tail,
And threw it over the wall,
And that's all!

No comments:

Post a Comment