Spinning, spinning, spun, Rumplestiltskin twiddles his thumbs. Flaxen thread, from sheep most pliant, A staple of clothing against the cold most defiant. But we are looking for the orb material that cats love.

Despite my name, I'm probably one of the last places where you'd choose to lay down.

I lock things up tight or help you to run away fast.

A sleeveless shield for chill, it hugs the chest so still. A layer light and neat, warmth it does discreet.

I'm deatly thin with a wandering eye, My talent is getting under your skin, I come with baggage - a thread, not a lie It won’t hurt a bit, they say as I come in.