When I was a little girl I remember the hours that she took,
cutting out small squares of material as if to put it in a scrapbook.
Every old blouse, dress, shirt, or material of any kind
She would piece together so gently a pattern she kept in mind.
All the ladies from the neighborhood would come to help the cause,
Spending time with needles and thread and working without a pause.
There would be a coffee and cookie time in the kitchen they’d go,
I would circle around the quilt recognizing the pieces of my clothes.
It would take time, but the frame would always stay in the same place,
Until the quilt was done, and everyone wore a smile upon their face.
In windy, white, wintery weather, I crawl under that quilt at night.
I know that she is always with me, and keeps me in her sight.
As my eyes drift slowly into the sweet dreams of times of the past,
My grandma’s love always covers me and it will always last.