I can look at the knot in a piece of wood until it frightens me.

The fields from Islington to Marybone, / To Primrose Hill and Saint John's Wood, / Were builded over with pillars of gold; / And there Jerusalem's pillars stood.

He who sings frightens away his ills.

Robin's here in coat of brown,And scarlet breast-knot gay.

You maid of hindering knot grass. You bead! You acorn!

Had a thought about a knot...then thought naught...