Bales of cotton are opened up ,
The Blow room is set to gulp,
The cotton is beaten into a lap
Which roll out in a snap.
The lap is fed into carding,
Where they undergo a cleaning,
The sliver is sent to the draw frame,
Which recovers the fibre from blame.
The simplex machine contributes the hank ,
The spinning frames commit the quality rank,
Where the fibre is spun without blemish
And wound up as yarn in the premise.
Having been literally into spinning for three decades
Now out of it to a laid back upgrades,
To a metaphorical spinning yarn into threads,
Empowering words and thoughts to a fine read.
Relinquishing physically to a state of rest,
The tiring schedules that end up in extensive tests,
Expelling the synergy out of the league,
The exhaustive exertions led to a mental fatigue
The unknowing entry into the world of writing,
Is a deep ,profound passion of a long-standing,
Keeps the physique in a fit selection’
Gives the mind the much-needed relaxation.
The self is at constant work formulating idealism
Thoughts born take the shape of impressionism,
Words weave them into a format of narration,
The presentation commends a tumultuous ovation.
The price of telling tales day in day out is almost nil,
The monetary portion needed for the work out is of no fill,
The prize of spinning words is a winning laurel,
The accumulation of assets in abstract terms is one of plurals.
