The Saintly Little Quilters

Long ago in a countryside

In Michigan a mother lived

Who raised two blooms – a boy and girl

Who gleamed way more than any pearl.

She taught them how to cook and sew

To make their home a spot to show

How neat and tidy it could be.

And their days thrived in bliss and glee.

The darlings loved to tend their sheep

And garden white and mauve turnip.

In flawless harmony they lived.

In goodness their days grew and thrived.

In twilight hours they learned The Book.

The truths made them take up a task;

They stitched a quilt* that showed the tales

Of men, who lived away from wiles.

‘My children would cosily sleep

So will, their generation kip

Warmly under the Bible Quilt’

Mused the mom in the dreams she built.

One sad day, off went the young broods

To fetch their sheep from the far fields

When a cold clime brewed up and burst.

In the thickened snow they were lost.

Lo! That night crushed the mother’s trance

Her life turned bleak, leaving no chance

Her children never turned homebound.                

They were found frozen, hand in hand.

No generations slept under

The Holy Bible Quilt, ever.

The young hands that made the duvet

Lives in memories far away.

God, keep them benign in your arms

In your land where nothing harms

Them; where no wild tempest furies,

Where no mothers will have worries.