Tangled threads

THE STRING BAG

A task to irritate a saint
- unravelling string of every length!
Before all's done, perhaps I'll faint;
it's such a tax upon one's strength.
This piece seems boastful of its knot,
as if it knows it hurts my nails.
Dear me! This bag does hold a lot;
my courage flags and fails.
But, after all - it's rather fun.
Suppose this string is but a street.
Ah! Now my journey's well begun; each knot
A mountain at my feet. Till these be scaled,
I can’t progress. I clench my teeth
and work away, beyond this knot lies happiness,
and I must pass while yet 'tis day.
Another piece leads to a hill
where fairy folk in tree trunks dwell.
I'll blaze this trail with good right will,
and live among them for a spell
So swift my fingers work, and fast
(imagination's on the wing!)
and all my troubles fade at last -
for life is like a knotted string!

Wilhelmina Stitch, 1927