A Christmas market, icy cold
where crafts are made both bright and bold.
A spinner lady fills my sight
beside her steaming *** of light.
She spins and dyes her woolen yarn —
and thinks of his spun tales and yarns
that wove her into stitches of laughs
to knit them in the cable craft.
The threads of her past joys now flow
into the yarn that she makes glow.