by Lucinda Secrest McDowell
If quilts could talk
I'd like to think I'd hear just what they'd say,
"I'll hold you close within my folds and wipe your tears away.
I'll keep you warm and give you strength to face another day."
If quilts could talk. . .
If quilts could sing
I'd like to think I'd recognize each tune,
The lullaby or funeral dirge or wedding march in June,
Both sweet and haunting melodies I'd listen to them croon.
If quilts could sing. . .
If quilts could write
I'd like to think I'd read the words they'd pen
Of life and love and motherhood, of mystery without end.
And, oh, the drama they could share of everywhere they'd been.
If quilts could write. . .
If quilts could pray
I'd like to think I'd hear each heartfelt prayer
Of thankfulness or great concern for those within their care;
Petitions to a loving God --- the One who's always there.
If quilts could pray. . .
The quilt of my own life
Finds voice to talk, sing, write and pray
As it weaves a hundred stories in its own eclectic way.
And with each stitch of grace and hope, my legacy is built.
All fragments finally made a whole. . .
The pieces of my quilt.
~copyright 1998 Lucinda Secrest McDowell
