Stipple Kibbin lay in his bed.
Stipple Kibbin picked at a thread.
He picked and he pecked, he pickled and pulled,
Stip mindlessly made himself a lovely hole,
Not in his sheets, not in his clothes,
But in his body ’round his patchwork soul.
Once he noticed he didn’t stop, no,
And quickly unraveled his lil pig toes.
He pulled at his thread as he happily crumbled
Till he found him self-surrounded in bundles.
Stip enjoyed this coming apart
But when he felt the tug on his heart
He turned to the rather opposite art
Of knitting, crocheting and sewing up parts.
He put himself back together again
With more pig toes and a bit bigger grin
But he didn’t stop, not there nor then,
He found more threads and stitched them in.
Life’s all threads and you just don’t know
Is this one to pull or one I should sew?
Well Stip did both and off he now goes
Traveling, raveling as he grows
Into the world from roots to crows,
From patchwork soul to lil pig toes.