Her page the quilt, she hummed
a hymn and stitched neat squares,
sketched scenes with needle pen.
She tied her knots tightly…
all part of ‘knowing who you are’.

I knew her lap,
the softest spot on earth,
but I never knew her dreams.
Maybe she gave them to her children,
six she raised all by herself.

She kept them warm in homemade quilts,
taught them faith and fed them
and never said a word
about life being hard. Everyday
she counted blessings; Everyday
she thanked the Lord.