Saturday, February 7

the weirdness. it's genetical.

My sister (above? no, but she painted that) wrote me a poem.
I'm sorry she insulted your sewing abilities but I still love it.
Dear Miss Lentil dost thou speak of threads and bobbin things?
The clothes you make are destined to bestow on people wings.
Not gossamer not silkiness not chintz not crepe but cotton,
Your fingers weave a dream for those whose sewing skills are rotten.