Sleek and silky
she knits,
never looking at her work —
needles flying furiously fast,
back and forth,
up and down,
over and under,
around and around.

I watch
in the waning light
of the dying moon
as she completes her masterpiece,
marvelling at her dexterity
and the exquisite grace of her artistry.

When the first hints of dawn
throw pastels between the greys
she begins dismantling
her now tatty tour de force,
rapidly eating each radial
until nothing remains.
Then curling up
in a corner of the eaves
she slumbers until twilight
when she will once again
weave her wizardry.

 

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Day Twelve:  Write a poem that explicitly incorporates alliteration.

 

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