An Angel Story

My poetry I have sewn, reflecting times in my life,
pricking my thumb, when I can't get it right,
afternoon delight.

 I ponder my thoughts,
embroidering my poetic quilt.

 Collecting memories,
some good some bad,

 some even sad.
Giving  intense thought,
to feather this quilt.

For Christmas

Can you put your hand upon your heart?
And say you finish all you start
That in your cupboard there is not
A project started and forgot
Of half done things your shelves are bare
There is no skeleton lurking there?
Either my friend you tell a lie
Or have more ruthlessness than I

 What of the set of place mats there?
A Christmas gift for yesteryear
Designs I like technique is good
I’ll finish them I know I should
About that cushion at the back
Why choose white instead of black?
There’s the pile of blocks I won last year
I almost forgot that they were there

 Our quilting things are a part of us
Is it fair to them to leave them thus?
They helped us make each forward stride
Why should they just be pushed aside?
Turn them into things we can all admire
By using the skills they helped you acquire
With a conscience clear, and a space you gain
And you could start the rigmarole again!

October

less light week by week– chrysantheum blooms