Connie Yost (5/27/38 / Reed City, Michigan)
Grandma's Quilted Garden
Designed and stitched together, seamless years ago,
It's blooms seem always brightest midst the wind and snow.
My grandma's quilted garden quells the frosty night,
Small hexagonal pieces shape the flowers bright.
The many colored petals, yellow, blue, and red,
Have chased the fevered chills and soothed the aching head.
They've rocked the restless baby snuggled for a nap,
And touched a broken heart when tucked across a lap.
I see her cotton curtains, aprons, and much more,
A cheery splash of sun that greets her kitchen floor.
And all the smidgen pieces, saved to make the quilt,
Found favor in a place where posies never wilt.
There live my grandma's foxglove, pinks, and purple sage,
I see her smiling, putting rainbows in a vase.
A tiny stain, a loosened seam, a wand'ring thread,
Still lifting spirits with it's blossoms on the bed.
Grandma's quilted garden does graciously survive,
Keeping life's brief moments enduringly alive.
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