by Patricia Everson

Sit down and I'll tell you a story
Wrap yourself up in my quilt.
Here's a cup of my coffee
The wood stove is filled to the hilt.

Quilting is more than a hobby.
To me it is a record of life,
Recording for me all the good times,
Remembering for me all the strife.

This patch was made from a bunting.
The baby had now moved away.
And this one came from my sister,
From a dress that was yellow and grey.

Below this one from my brother
Is one from my aunt who just died.
If you look close you can cipher
Her signature on the left side.

And here over next to the corner
Is a piece from my mother's old skirt.
And this one right in the middle
Was made from my father's red shirt.

This one came out a bit crooked.
The material was faded and worn.
No wonder it looks so dejected,
It was woven before I was born.

Beneath this one at the bottom
Is one that is worth more than gold.
It came from my old winter jacket,
It kept me safe from the cold.

This blue one I found in the cellar
When we moved to this house long ago.
Who knows what story it covets,
This old, faded, worn calico.

Above the green one in the center
Is my most favorite one of all.
It looks like the leaves by the river
Just after they drop in the fall.

And let's not forget this pink gingham,
I know that it's seen better days,
But I like the way that it mingles
With the yellows and purples and greys.

Before you finish your coffee
And you have to be on your way,
Take a look at this one near the bottom,
It came from my Great Uncle Ray.

He traveled the world in a schooner,
He brought back such wonderful things.
The material is of the richest,
Fit only for princes and kings.

Some store their treasures in bank vaults,
Some keep them hidden away,
But I keep mine here on my quilt top
Where I can enjoy them each day.

QUILT-MAKER

by Pauline Havard

In the little white house her husband built,
She sews the pieces of a patchwork quilt.
Three, she has made, just since November,
All rich colors and fine to remember --
The Wedding Ring pattern and the Evening Star
(Quilts that are lovely, as all quilts are
Which are sewn in the twilight in a firelit place).
Through bits of cloth she sees
his well-loved face
He keeps her company,
and she turns the seams
With a needleful of patience,
a thimbleful of dreams.

red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet

Jacquie Scuitto

I went to a quilt show
And what did I see
But more kinds of quilts
Than I thought there could be:

There were huge ones and minis
And lots in between,
Combinations of colors
That I'd never seen.

Some quilts were just triangles,
Others all squares.
I saw appliqued angels, Rabbits and bears.

I saw fanciful shapes
And stars all aglow,
All the quilts with no ribbons
And the grand Best of Show.

I never have known
Such excitement before.
When is the next show?
I want to see more!

the blocks of the builders

by Jacquie Scuitto

I've sought inspiration
A quilt for to make.
There's a wide choice of patterns,
Now which should I take?

Here's Baltimore Album
And Sunbonnet Sue,
Seven Sisters, Clay's Choice
And Log Cabin too.

Anvil and Churn Dash,
Birds in the Air,
Country Crossroads,
City Square.

Broken Dishes,
Tree of Life,
LeMoyne Star,
Contrary Wife.

Mexican Star,
Pickle Dish,
Cherry Basket,
Goldfish.

Thousand Pyramids,
Irish Chain,
True Lover's Knot,
And Airplane.

Tangled Garter,
World's Fair,
Kansas Troubles,
Windblown Square.

Also Hovering Hawks
And Flying Geese.
I really don't know
What to piece!

Four-Patch, Nine-Patch,
Tumbling Blocks,
Grandmother's Fan,
Jack-in-the-Box.

Spiderweb,
Kaleidoscope,
There must be one.
I've not lost hope.

I've thought and thought,
I'm ready to wilt.
Eureka!
I'll make a sampler quilt!

14,287 Pieces of Fabric

Behind the painted picket gate
There lived a quilter known as Kate
Sthe had one son, a boy named John;
One daughter, whom she doted on.
She had one husband and one house
One pup, one cat, one little mouse…
And 14,287 pieces of fabric.

Grandmother's Parlor

by Priscilla Schrock

I remember the quilt, made with loving care,
Draped over the back of her favorite chair,
In my Grandmother's parlor.

A quilt full of pictures, a quilt full of love,
With birds stitched in gold, seen flying above,
In my Grandmother's parlor.

Made with purples and reds and colors so bright,
The browns and the greens and even some white,
In my Grandmother's parlor.

As I sat on the floor my fingers would glide,
Tracing designs over threads narrow and wide,
In my Grandmother's parlor.

I would give all I have for a chance to be there,
In my Grandmother's lap, in her favorite chair,
In my Grandmother's parlor.

A Treasure

Mildred Hatfield

It's more than a coverlet,
More than a spread,
This beautiful quilt
That graces my bed.

It's laughter and sorrow,
It's pleasure and pain,
It's small bits and pieces
Of sunshine and rain.

It's a bright panorama
Of scraps of my life-
It's moments of glory,
It's moments of strife.

It's a story I cherish
Of days that have been,
It's a door I can open
To live them again.

Yes, it's more than a cover,
This much-treasured quilt,
It's parts pieced together
Of the life I have built.