Quilting


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There is a quilt that is precious to me
Made by my Mother so dear.
Sewn with bits and pieces of memories,
From clothing handed down in childhood years.
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Such tiny stitches my Mother used.
So small I'd have to squint my eyes.
There to see where each piece joined so perfectly.
Though, she never won a blue ribbon or prize.
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There was the bright red and gold paisley
Of a jumper I had worn for years.
When it got too tight and went into the quilt
I know I shed many tears.
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Then the bright marching figures
Carrying bandanaed belongings tied on a stick.
I always called it my "Hobo Dress"
My mother cut out the characters I'd pick.
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More sedate material went into the quilt
As I continued to grow.
Clothes set aside with sadness, but with her hands
Each memory would be stitched and sown.
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Sew and stitch, trim and cut,
It grew by leaps and bounds.
She'd sew quietly through Winters' gloom.
The wood stove's crackle and her prayers the only sound.
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When it was done, we spread it out.
Then put it on my bed with pride.
Such cozy warmth it gave to me,
Her love in each stitch couldn't be denied.
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The years have flown as they tend to do.
Mother gone for way too long.
In getting out the hand me down quilt
My heart lifts in sweet song.
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For as I look and trace each stitch,
I remember my childhood days.
Each piece I spy brings memories
Of Mother's love and caring ways.
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I thank You, Lord, for memories
Of a Christian Mother who did know.
Someday I'd look upon that quilt
And cherish what she had sewn.
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Jane Ellen Slone
4-24-09
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Music: "Come Lord"

Midi Courtesy Of Dolphin's Dream
Used With Permission

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