The stained glass coverlet, <br />Crocheted from remnant yarns, <br />Was untouched by his apartment fire. <br /> <br />I remember when she <br />Created this masterpiece, <br />My son’s grandmother, my husband’s mom. <br /> <br />The parallelogram <br />Patterns, four-sided squares, <br />Some fat, some lean, different colors; <br /> <br />His name ran down the middle, <br />“K E I T H.” <br />Exquisite in charm and of beauty. <br /> <br />She crocheted so fast <br />In days of our past. <br /> <br />On a recent visit <br />To Tennessee, I found <br />The salvaged piece of art she had made. <br /> <br />It made days of old appear <br />When he was young and near. <br /> <br />Youth has been swallowed up <br />Matured him-on his own. <br />And now life begins a new cycle. <br /> <br />His childhood afghan <br />Unveiled to me these truths. <br />I couldn’t put it away while there. <br /> <br />I remembered how I miss those days. <br />I’ll hold him as a toddler in my heart always.<br /><br />Carol D. Meeks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/stained-glass-memories/
