Back in the days of long ago,
My Mother used to make,
Old-fashioned quilts of choice,
And they were up-to-date.
She had a name for every one,
It seems that I recall,
The Crown, the Fan, the Basket Quilt,
And Mother made them all.
The Old Log Cabin Quilt was one,
The Star of red and white,
The Court House Steps, the Memory Quilt,
The Brick colors bright.
The Crazy Quilt, I see it now,
Blocks different, yet the same,
Toads in a Puddle, Windmills too,
The Double Irish Chain.
The Outline Quilt worked all in red,
Seemed full of merry cheer,
And of them all, there’s still one quilt,
I prize and hold most dear.
It’s just a little cradle Quilt,
Of tiny blocks so queer,
My Mother made it for her boy,
That’s why I hold it dear.
The years have passed and mother too,
Has left this world of care,
But memories sweet still linger,
Around my Mother’s chair.
And recollections come to me,
When I recall her joy,
As she fashioned many tiny blocks,
In a cover for her boy.
So I shall keep this little quilt,
Of blocks so quaint and dear,
It brings so many memories sweet,
Of Mother’s presence here.
Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934
Copyright Roy Richard