I’m never alone when I sit at my lace
Every bobbin I own is a friend
And brings back to my mind some special time
When over my pillow I bend.

There’s the gumlace commems hand painted by Britt
With gumleaves and gumnuts and lace
Reminding me of that circle of friends
Who all meet at our internet place.

There’s a pair sent from Scotland , hand painted in blue
From my contacts with faraway places
And some from the States, received for a swap
With hedgehogs, and fans just for lacers.

There are some made of metal, and some made of bone
But most are just made of plain wood
The most precious of all are those turned by DH
Going back to the days when he could.

There’s marbled acrylics, and ones I’ve hand painted
And plastics made bright with nail varnish
There are Mother and Babes, and some spirally wound
I just hope the wire doesn’t tarnish.

There are some from estates from those who’ve passed on
And gone to that place in the sky
Where threads never break, and pins never bend
And with pillows in ample supply.

As each bobbin goes by, with its burden of thread
Does its work, rounds a pin, and is gone
I’m reminded again of precious times past
And friendships and memories live on.