UNTITLED poem
My neighbor is washing her windows,
And scrubbing and mopping her floors,
But my house is all topsy and turvy,
And dust is behind all the doors.
My neighbor she keeps her house spotless,
And she goes all day long on a trot;
But no one would know in a fortnight
If she swept today or not.
The task I am at is enticing -
My neighbor is worn to a rag -
I am making a quilt out of pieces
I saved in a pretty chintz bag.
And the quilt, I know my descendants
Will exhibit with credit to me -
"So lovely - my grandmother made it
Long ago in 1933."
But will her grandchildren remember
Her struggles with dirt and decay?
They will not - they will wish she had made them
The quilt I am making today.
Cynicky Phin
This will definitely be read often for inspiration, and it is so fitting that I came upon it today. Earlier this afternoon, my brother gave me his quilt that my little grandma made. She made us all one, but I used mine all the time and took pictures of my first baby with it. That one is a memory, but I have this one now...and when I took it out of the plastic zipped bag he was storing it in...ahh, it smelled just like gma's house. She passed at 98, twelve years ago, but to me she is still here and in my quilting, she lives on.