IN HONOR OF AN UNKNOWN QUILTER
I saw your quilt top,/ Green and yellow in the distance./ There it was, catching the breeze,/ Draped over an old chifforobe to dry./ A morning mist had dampened it,/ and Sensing he had a treasure,, The flea market vendor had placed it there.
One end unfinished, brown with the years,/ I held your quilt, saw your face, and cried./ Was it illness? Death? A crippling stroke?/ What made you lay it aside?/ Perhaps your fingers ceased to move./ Anyway, you must have had a reason.
Be assured:/ Your qult is safe with me./ I will wash it, quilt it, care for it,/ And place it on my bed in your honor./ Perhaps some day someone will/ Do the same for me.
By Carol Vickers of Decatur, Mississippi and printed in the July/August 2001 "Quilter's Newsletter Magazine."