by Sue E. Clabaugh
My Grandmother used to have a quilt that she would wrap me in.
She told me it was hers now and made by folks back when.
Said it was all made out of remnants and each and every patch
meant something to someone that nobody else could match.
Some patches were cut from feed bags that they got from the mill,
And some were old velvet with little golden frills.
Each patch was sewn with thread of the sewer’s heart
That nothing in the whole wide world could ever tear them apart.
I always felt that I was loved as my fingers felt the cloth
What a memory for me to keep –
Something that can’t be bought.
Years later I walked into the old back room
Where the children always played.
And there were remnants of the past
From how they spent their days.
The old blue cart that pushed the things that they had bought
The old green doll carriage that one was proud she got.
And over in the corner – the big stuffed bear, with just one eye,
When he was so much younger,
he really was some guy.
The little yellow cradle handmade by Uncle Bill
Was just as sturdy as when he made it from remnants from the mill.
And in another corner laid a raggedy old quilt,
It had been used for such a long time
But loved by many still.
It was used for picnics, and dolly’s little bed
Where many times while playing – they would lay their little heads.
How would that pretty quilt from so many years ago,
Know just how much joy it would bring
To children while they grow.
I cried when my eyes saw it lying there and I remembered Granny’s words
That I now share –“it was all made out of remnants” were the words she said.
Oh, what I’d give to be wrapped up in that old quilt
And rocked by my Granny again,
To feel the love from those old remnants
That were some things that were just left over
And put together – something that can’t be bought.
