Stopping By Knitsmiths on a Sunday Afternoon

(with abject apologies to Robert Frost)

Whose sock this is I think I know.
Her chair, I see, is empty though;
She will not see me sitting here
To gauge her progress; it’s been slow.
My fellow Knitsmiths think it’s queer
To steal her spot when she’s not here
But from where I sit I can partake
Of Lisa’s wit and Thea’s cheer.
And look! This week someone’s brought cake!
It can’t be me—I do not bake.
The loudest sound I hear is Gail,
“Shush”ing us to no avail.
This Koigu’s lovely, dark, and sweet.
But, look, here’s Dana, back from Peet’s!
Back to my own chair I creep,
For I have promises to keep
And miles to knit before I sleep,
And miles to knit before I sleep.