Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,
There is naught else in living.
And I would rather have my sweet,
Though rose-leaves die of grieving,
Than do high deeds in Hungary
To pass all men's believing.
what a pain in the arse...just a few inches from completely binding off this Shallowtail shawl (and it really is shallow, I ran out of yarn and couldn't finish the peaked edging chart) and this is how much yarn I have left.
Oh well. I'll pull back one row, and bind off a row earlier, because no way am I ordering more yarn.