Red, orange, yellow, purple, blue and green;
The colors flow smoothly from her fingers
A rainbow of yarn like I’ve never seen
So absorbed in her I stop and linger
With every twist of her agile wrist
I watch intently as the afghan grows
Without looking, she creates every stitch
Then carefully crochets them into rows
The weight of it on her is comforting
Its warmth blocks out the chilly winter air
Still I can’t keep myself from wondering
Will it soon be too much for her to bear?