A Woolly Tale

A nursery rhyme that worked itself out in my head while I was in the shower. I doubt that's actually relevant.

A Woolly Tale

 

The soft, woolly sheep stands in the green field,

Growing the wool, growing it thick;

The soft, woolly sheep stands in the green field,

Growing the wool soon to be shorn.

 

The shepherd boy kneels in the warm sheepfold,

Shearing the wool, shearing it close;

The shepherd boy kneels in the warm sheepfold,

Shearing the fleece next to be washed.

 

The wash woman scrubs in soapy water,

Washing the wool, washing it clean;

The wash woman scrubs in soapy water,

Washing the wool to be carded.

 

The old woman sits with her carding combs,

Carding the wool, carding it smooth;

The old woman sits with her carding combs,

Carding the wool bright to be dyed.

 

The kitchen lad holds the paddle and stirs,

Dying the wool, dying it bright;

The kitchen lad holds the paddle and stirs,

Dying the wool then to be spun.

 

Sister Ann sits at her wheel, and she spins,

Spinning the wool, spinning it fine;

Sister Ann sits at her wheel, and she spins,

Spinning the yarn to be woven.

 

Mother Joan sits at her loom, and she weaves,

Weaving the wool, weaving it tight;

Mother Joan sits at her loom, and she weaves,

Weaving the wool cloth to be fulled.

 

Father John works in his mill, and he fulls,

Fulling the wool, fulling it dense;

Father John works in his mill, and he fulls,

Fulling the thick felt to be cut.

 

Grandfather sits with his scissors and cuts,

Cutting the wool, cutting it straight;

Grandfather sits with his scissors and cuts,

Cutting the pattern to be sewn.

 

Grandmother sits with her needle, and sews,

Stitching the wool, stitching the seams;

Grandmother sits with her needle, and sews,

Stitching clothes wee baby will wear.

 

Baby Jem lies in his cradle and sleeps,

Wearing the wool, wearing it warm;

Baby Jem lies in his cradle and sleeps,

Dreaming of the soft, woolly sheep.

 

Author's Note

Initial reactions and constructive criticism welcome. No, I realize it doesn't rhyme. This is meant to resemble a traditional nursery rhyme.

This is dedicated to the memory of my cousin's daughter, aged 19 days, who passed away yesterday afternoon, around the time the first verses were forming in my mind. We love you, Emma Jean.