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My Grandma



My grandma, she loves her knitting,
She likes to knit and knit,
She will spend her day knitting gifts for you,
The type you would rather not get.

She knitted coats for the farmer’s sheep,
She knitted a hat for his fierce bull
She knitted shoes for his prize-winning chickens,
And a ski mask for his brother in Hull

She knitted a devil for the Vicar Retallick
A stethoscope for our Doctor Faye
Black teeth for a dentist in Bodmin
And a blackboard for the head teacher, Miss May

‘Now Grandma,’ I said, ‘you can’t carry on.
People don’t want your strange woollen gifts
Save your energy and your time, go for a walk, dance a tune
Stop clacking your needles in shifts.

She said ‘Nothing will stop me from knitting.
I’ll knit until the end of my days
I have wool in my bones, my feet, legs and toes
And an extra ball of yarn in my stays.

‘Knitting, it does make me happy
It spices up the days of my life
I like the confused look on their faces
And cause all this mischief and strife’

Puzzled, I left her to her knitting
And her gifts continued to appear
Her last gift to us, were bright scarfs wrapped round trees
Which drew people from far and near.

You see, grandma she up and she left us,
Sailed away to an island, named Yarn
Where sheep grazed under trees, in grass past their knees,
And with a sheepshearer, named Dan, in the barn
Last night in a dream, she came to me,
It was her needles I heard clacking first.
She was smiling that bright smile I remembered
Standing there in her best knitted dress.

‘Don’t worry for me my sweet darling.
I am having the time of my life
I’ve knitted each passing whale a waterproof mac
I’m still causing all mischief and strife

So now whenever I see a child
Wearing a woollen hat on a hot summer’s day
Or a misshapen jumper, three times far too big,
Or a new-born’s bootie in the dirt, gone astray

I remember my grandmother fondly
Clacking her aluminium number 8s like an art
With a cheeky broad smile and a glint in her eye
And a large ball of yarn for her heart.
©VictoriaCornwall