They do not make them anymore,
For quilts are cheaper at the store
Than woman’s labor, though a wife
Men think the cheapest thing in life.
But now and then a quilt is spread
Upon a quaint old walnut bed,
A crazy quilt of those days
That I am old enough to praise.
Some woman-sewed these points and squares
Into a pattern like life’s cares.
Here is a velvet that was strong,
The poplin that she wore so long,
A fragment from her daughter’s dress,
Like her, a vanished loveliness;
Old patches of such things as these,
Old garments and old memories.
And what is life?
A crazy quilt;
Sorrow and joy, grace and guilt,
With here and there a square of blueFor some old happiness we knew;
And so the hand of time will take
The fragments of our lives and make,
Out of life’s remnants,
as they fall,
A thing of beauty, afterall.