I'm including this in the Poetry corner because if you replace knitting with weaving, then...that's me! :)
By Margaret Barber
'What will it be when I am done?" she said,
"A self-compounded morphine of the soul;
A sedative administered by self
For want of any other to prescribe.
The stitches small? Yes, you may find them so,
And even; as the restless work of hands
Which find no meaning in the task they do
Sometimes may be. Having no larger goal,
They seek to do a small thing perfectly;
Hoping some miracle may make it seem
Important to themselves.
Were I to watch this window, here, and sit,
I should go mad more quickly; so I knit."