a special poem......

The following poem was written by a lady from the Southern Highlands - a church group from Bundanoon and Exeter got together and during there quilt making for "Caring with Quilts" this poem was written, I really enjoyed reading and did several times........the last paragraph sums up "Caring with Quilts" perfectly.........
I have permission to post this on my blog.

Quilts for Coonabarabran. 2013        

How do you start, to begin again? We really don’t know how.

Piece by piece - like a patchwork quilt, is all we can offer for now.

The fabric came from quilters homes, from friends and linen presses.

Matching colour tones, came easily for some, but for others it was totally guess-work.

We had a few meetings to discuss, the best way to attack it.

But in the end we all pitched in, cutting strips and squares and patches.

Ladies came from here and there, we wore tags to know our own names.

Some were from church, some from nearby, and some simply because they had heard.

Under watchful supervision, some stitching still didn’t make the grade.

If the joins in your quilt are not perfect, remember the skills of the sewer ... are the same.

Some of us who hadn’t a clue, decided to work in the kitchen.

Or nervously waited on an expert, to allow us to take the next action.

The old church hall had limited points, for irons and sewing devices.

Power boards and extension leads, were creatively used to suffice us.

Is ‘that’ a sewing machine? The question from some young children.

When a fifty year old green SINGER was heaved up to the table.

The kids whose family, rhymes with ‘quilt’, ironed squares and served us pikelets.

They kept the water up to the iron, and in between they ... squirted!

One special girl with her ‘L’s on, sewed a hem for the very first time.

She wanted it slow, but still made it go, then lit up the room with excitement.

Spectacles had to be borrowed one day, as sunnies are bad choosing colours.

The blind one stepped in for Suzy, till the one with wrong glasses felt woozy.

When loaning us his ironing board, like a surfer on his way to the sea.

Our minister drove down his road, wondering ‘why are they laughing at me?’

He tried to get us to iron his shirts, and somebody dared to say ... yes!

But only if she could cut them up, and re-join them with floral in sections.

Some teenaged girls tried seriously to pretend, they were reading and trying to study.

We knew all along they were undercover, judging who was the fuddiest old duddy.

We quilting novices heard some terms, that still need some explaining.

Like ‘stitch in a ditch’, ‘press to the dark’ and a style that mentions ‘sausages’.

A few with obvious aptitude were invited to ‘sandwich’ one day.

The rest of us were quite content with quiche and cake ... anyway.

We had some fun at your expense, dear folk from Coonabarabran.

We thought on how difficult and sad for you, to not have the things that you count on.

This quilt may not be to your decorating taste, it may not be your colour of choice.

But may it bring comfort in some tiny way, to know that strangers, have been caring.

.........take care til next time.....Chookyblue.........