My Daughter: Pattricia Pummill ©2001

What is this? you ask of me
Is this what you call poetry?
'No, my friend I share with you,
words wrapped up flowing from my heart...'
With a twinkle in my eye and a whimsicial grin...
I reply.
With it my hope to you might be
a story that touches deeply
As we gently walk in time...
gracefully told like a river flows.
Maybe it will stir the soul
touch your emotions as you read
Not really poetry but, Prose you see...
A few lines told in rhyme
from the poet buried deep within this heart of mine.

Beautiful dear just beautiful.... and when you can read, and feel it deep within you and in your minds eye....awesome so awesome you see :) thanks for sharing...these............

Most of my Daughter's writing is of her life and family...This is one she won a award for. The Quilt is one that my Mom made and gave her when she turned 16. Hope you enjoy.....
The Quilt


Ah, grandmother dear, how I smile
as I look upon the quilt you made for me.
Many long hours of love and labor,
and all the miles we walked together.
Now who would have known
and who would have thought,
all these years later it stands the test
and hangs here now among all my best.
A little worn and somewhat tattered,
these stars of red, white and blue.....
folded just perfect on a matching stand.
The frayed edges really couldn't matter.
Many years passed since I turned sixteen.
Ah, so many summers I have seen.
Little did I know this gift you lovingly made
would bear great witness to a 'special love' for me.
Deep reds and wines, and shades of blue.
Your 'America my country' book displayed too.
George Washington as he signs a bill.
Yes, Mama I now show off your plate.
Indian heritage thrown in too....
Intense, my colors, like the maiden, made by you.
How did you know so many years ago,
the colors I'd chose to wrap around my home
You said, "We are a part of all that grows".
Didn't understand then, but this I know,
when I smell spring in the air,
long before the buds appear,
I can feel the call....
So world, you can have all the malls,
as I yearn for the sun upon my face and back,
with hands plunged deep within the soil
I know.... Yes. I'm part of all that grows!
And I can still see you taking each loving stitch.
Many longs hours you sat on your bench.
Wondered then, why you sat so long,
your fingers sore and your back would ache,
but yet so strong....
But now you sit at the Masters Feet
and all your pains have been erased.
I remember sitting by your feet and side,
all the love I felt then and now inside.
Now I know why you took each stitch.
So we all might know you're never gone,
no matter how much you are missed,
leaving apart of you behind that offers....
warmth, smiles and memories galore.
What better gifts could I have,
than to know you set about with more
love and patience, then designed it all just 'sew'....
© 2001 Pattricia Pummill

Greg, what kind of help?

What words have we to begin with?? And is it one line a piece?