In a puffball land where the yarn hills roll,
and the skies are stitched with a giggling soul,
the creatures of Wanderweft came out to play—
each fuzzier, funnier, brighter than day.
A pink thing with fangs and a cone on its head
leads a gang of gigglers from thread-bed to thread.
A bird made of fluff with surprised little eyes
guards jellybean hills ‘neath the cotton-candy skies.
One monster has horns, one sports a lone stalk,
another just twitches and shuffles in shock.
Their homes are arches of rainbow delight,
felted in joy and bursting with light.
But some wear faces that frown or stare—
as if wondering how they all got there.
(They say when the Plateau shifts in its sleep,
some dreams crawl out from the colors too deep.)
Yet no one’s afraid in this tangled terrain,
for even the weirdness is soft and insane.
So laugh with the lumps, dance through the fuzz,
and don’t ask why—just love it because.
Made with love and wools
