'Twas the night before Christmas, and sat in my chair,
I was frantically knitting a scarf of mohair.
I'd planned to knit everyone's presents this year,
Despite the concerns raised by my husband dear.
As a faithful never not knitting subscriber,
I had spent many hours considering fibre,
Angora, alpaca, merino, mohair,
Cashmeres and cottons, and camel so rare.
At least this year I was making small pieces.
A hat for my nephew, some scarves for my nieces.
Last year I made a huge Christmas sweater!
This year I swore i'd just write him a letter.
Then guilt overcame me, I started to doubt:
At Christmas nobody should feel left out!
This year there won’t be a missing link!
If I'm seen to show favourites, what will people think?
Still left to do - at least one more sock,
And piles of things still yet to block.
There's rows of blocked items still soaking wet!
They won't be ready tomorrow, I bet.
The Knitmore girls say to start in May,
Or else your Christmas will end in dismay.
I began in October, all ease and no worry,
And by mid-November I started to hurry.
The husband was nestled all snug in his bed,
While I ignored hand cramps and tired eyes instead.
If I just close my eyes for a minute or two,
Then I'll feel fresh to start the next project anew...
I bound off one hat, dumped it into the sink,
And cast on another before I could blink.
My knitting was reaching a feverish pitch,
As I blazed through inches of stockinette stitch.
Cables? No problem. Lace? A delight.
The end of the colour-work hat was in sight
My eyes were glinting a devilish gleam,
And in ten seconds flat I had sewed up a seam.
I was finishing projects as fast as could be!
And they magically wrapped themselves under the tree!
But I'm not complaining, I thought to myself.
I'm just being helped by a jolly old elf.
"A jumper! A beanie! A mitten and cowl!
A shawlette! Some wristers! A hat with an owl!
Now write them a card in a hurried scrawl!
Now weave away! Block away! Wrap away all!"
The production line blurred with the speed of my knitting,
As on my chair I was comfortably sitting.
My hands were relaxing, my knitting went slack.
The scene started fading to absolute black.
I sprang from my sleep, and looked round in dismay:
Christmas was over, it was now Boxing Day!
It had all been a dream and I'd knit not a row!
The tree had no presents all wrapped up below.
Not a thing could be done, it had all been too late,
The best I could do was own up to my fate.
So then I exclaimed, and all ‘round me could hear,
"Maybe you'll get your gifts in the New Year!"
By Christina Hopgood, 2015.