Currently viewing the tag: "Remnants"

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.