Wednesday, January 28, 2015
THE PATCHWORK QUILT
By Natalie Whitted Price
Did Gran'ma ever tell you about the
That lies across the sofa in her room?
It is made from scraps of dresses that
she wore when she was young,
And some of them were woven on a loom.
Sometimes when it is raining and I
can't play out of doors,
She lets me spread it out upon the floor,
And as I choose the pieces I'd like
to hear about,
She tells me of the dresses that she wore.
It isn't just the dresses that Gran'ma
It's the things that happened when
she had them on.
And almost ev'ry piece that's in that
dear old patchwork quilt,
Holds the mem'ry of a sorrow or a song.
Oh, things were very wonderful when
Gran'mama was young,
You ought to hear her tell about it all,
The ladies all were beautiful, the
children all were good,
And the men were all so gallant and so tall.
She calls the quilt her mem'ry bed,
and ev'ry little piece
Is a flower blooming in its scented fold.
There are red ones for the roses and
blue for "don't forgets"
And yellow ones for sunflowers of gold;
There's one she calls sweet lavender,
that smells like babies' clothes.
And one of purple like the sunset skies,
I never ask about these, or the gray
one like the rain,
For when I do dear Gran'ma always cries.
My Gran'ma told me once that life is
just a patchwork quilt,
Of births and deaths and marriages and things,
And that sometimes when you're
looking for a lovely piece of red,
You only find a knot of faded strings,
But she says that red is redder when
it's by a piece of brown,
And gray is not so gray by sunny gold;
Oh, I hope I'll have a lovely patchwork
quilt like Gran'mamma's,
To show to little children when I'm old.
NOTE: THERE ARE SEVERAL POEMS, MANY DONE BY LOCAL PEOPLE, WHICH I WILL POST OVER TIME. YOU MAY RECOGNIZE SOME OF THE AUTHORS.