If Grandma's favorite quilt could speak,
What stories it could tell.
Of being washed early Monday mornings,
With water drawn from the back yard well.

Pail after pail Grandma hauled,
Filling up the old wash tub.
Sweat trickled down her brow,
When upon her washboard she would scrub.

In winter the quilt dried in Grandma's kitchen,
Hung over a line strung from wall to wall.
Many good memories it did see,
That it could happily recall.

The smell of wood burning from the old cook stove,
With wood..Grandma diligently fed.
Opening the oven door just a little,
Careful not to burn the baking bread.

And many nights it did find Grandma,
Weak, tired and weary.
Hard work never hurt anyone,
That was her philosophy and theory.

It had also seen many times,
A newborn baby so very small.
As Grandma rocked the baby to sleep,
Carefully wrapped within her shawl.

It saw Grandma by the glow of an oil lamp,
Happy and busily darning socks.
Peering over the rim of her glasses,
Her face outlined by curly graying locks.

It saw the love within Grandma's eyes,
For her family one and all.
And it heard Grandma's magical words I love you,
As they drifted down the hall.

It heard Grandma as she sweetly sang,
The song Amazing Grace.
And to be harbored there with her,
It was like no other place.

As her favorite quilt hung to dry,
Out in the fresh mountain breeze.
It saw Grandma rocking on the front porch,
Contently shelling sweet sugar peas.

It also saw the endless tears Grandma cried,
When Grandpa passed away.
Not wanting to listen to any one she said,
Within these four walls is where I'll stay.

Every evening it saw Grandma,
As she loyally bowed her head to pray.
Thankful she would be,
For having yet seen another day.

The once wide open field,
Now over grown with meadow hue.
Many years have long since passed,
And now Grandma is gone too.

Standing alone and so empty,
Is the house that Grandpa built.
And many happy memories lay within the folds,
Of..
Grandma's Favorite Quilt.

©Elizabeth Ann Bushey
September ~ 6 ~ 2006©
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