"This poem was written by Award winning poet Glenda J Bowling following the untimely death of her husband in the 70s. She was never a quilter, but captured the textures of life through the words stitched together in this poem.
Permission given to publish this in my Quilter's Pantry blog by her niece, Cathy Pierce"
That each of us, when we reach middle age or so,
Have many little lives, all held together like a patchwork quilt.
Some patches are beautiful to behold,
They are bright and some are bold.
Patches from our childhood, and Moms who wiped the tears away,
or that first day of school, what an unforgettable day!
There's a patch from our teenage years,
and the bright colors of pom poms and cheers.
A patch where we found first love,
No faint colors here.
Walking on clouds, or crying in pain.
Who would want to do that patch again?
Here's a beautiful patch of white for our wedding day
Is love truly here to stay?
Sweet patches of pastel,
From our babies that we held.
Those patches smell of talcum to this day.
This patch has a tear,
Love has grown cold, and no more our lives to share.
Patches of friendship here, some patches are weak,
Of frienships gone by, while others are strong,
of friendships lifelong.
Here's a dazzling bright patch,
Mature love, best love, true love.
Another wedding patch,
We'll share all our dreams,
And send them to God on heavenly wings.
The Angel will sing a song
of a love story that grew ever strong.
A black patch here,
and mystically it still feels wet with tears.
I didnt get to say goodbye,
I try to explain
To anyone whose attention I could gain.
Grey patch here.
A dull patch of changes, struggles and fears.
But the patches get brighter over the years.
Children are grown,
Beginning patchworks quilts of their own,
I look at mine,
each patch one of a kind.
Some of them truly lovely to behold,
And I will treasure them until the end of time.
Others are ugly and cold.
And if I could have, Id left them out.
But these are the patches that bind,
They made me strong.
They gave me courage to keep moving on.
You see, the strength of a quilt is how it is sewn,
I was never truly alone.
The courage I felt was not my own.
When my quilt is finished,
and the last patch is sewn in,
I hope it will be the most beautiful patch of all,
And God will say "Well done, my little friend"