In the evening after supper, With the dishes put away, Mother then would change to slippers, Humming in a peaceful way. Her thoughts were filled with quilting, Thus the stitches she would make; For a double wedding ring, Hoping for a prize to take. Every evening she would quilt; Meanwhile humming soft and low; Oft she'd speak of dress or kilts, Worn by dear ones long ago. Father sitting near to watch her, Compared her to an open book. With the patches for her pages, As a story undertook. In and out went shining needle, As the white thread Mother wove; Till at length the finished pattern, Blossomed with a lovely rose. Mother's quilt is old and faded, Long ago she went to rest, Still I linger o'er the pages, Of the quilt that she loved best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BRUTUS LIVES AGAIN IN BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PRAYER TO THE OCEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON THE HASTY PUDDING by JOEL BARLOW BARNEY'S INVITATION by PHILIP FRENEAU ON A MOURNER by ALFRED TENNYSON |