poetry, writing

Quilted Pieces of Life

I hoped I would have the chance

To one day pass on my grandmother’s quilt.

The one she made when I was a child,

From scraps of my own mother’s clothes.

Alas, no children of my own,

And too many nieces to pick.

I’d rather it go to one of yours,

But for now, that wouldn’t be right.

So I hold it in a closet,

and look at it now and then,

The purple trim and quilted pieces,

I just hope one day it can be passed on

To someone who cares as much as I do.

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