Love’s Labors

A strand of cashmere string and sticks bamboo,
I’m drawn to them as moths are to a flame,
Each season I begin to knit anew,
With complex weavings on and off the grain.
You’d think by now my family would refrain
escaping oohs and ahs as gifts are opened,
My heart is warmed as I relive again,
Those fireside eves of crafting for betokened.
It seems my friends and guides were oft misspoken,
Biddies, crows, whose children and their babes,
Cared not well for handmade, family tokens,
Though fingers cracked and splintered on the way.
These feet of clay collapse, and bones may wilt,
It’s grand to see them crawl ‘neath Grandma’s quilt.

Written for the Sunday Whirl, which after a long hiatus, has returned with another batch of interesting words to incorporate into poetry.   wordle 210

10 thoughts on “Love’s Labors

    1. Joanne Edith

      Yes – remarkably! I too thought little of the old crocheted quilts in the attic, until I saw how much appreciated were the ones I made for my five grandsons. Besides having knitted or crocheted a baby blanket for each while they were in utero, I’ve made them countless, throws, sweaters, hats, slippers, mittens, and more blankets – too numerous to even remember. And yet I am still surprised when I drop in for a visit only to find a precious child snuggled on the couch under one of ‘my’ blankets. Amazing, really! Thank you for your comment.

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  1. brenda warren

    I was hoping the quilt would become a focal point for someone. I love this piece, Joanne. Quilts bring comfort, and contain history. Your poem is beautiful, and yes you do incorporate the words seamlessly.

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    1. Joanne Edith

      I can empathize! The best thing after the knitting and the giving is stopping at my daughter’s and seeing the well-used blankets all over the place. It truly does warm my heart. I hope your injury heals quickly, and that you pick up the pointy sticks soon. Thanks for your comment.

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