Poetry

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When I think of Grandma's apron
There's a smile upon my face
For it smelled like cakes and cinnamon
And kept my world in place.

It was made from scraps of fabric
Or a patterned flour sack
Made both practical and pretty
By my Grandma's special knack.

Those corners were the ones she used
To wipe away my tears
And when she'd wrap me up in it
I'd lose my doubts and fears.

The pockets held a host of things
A most delightful fare
Like clothespins for the Monday wash
Or ribbons for my hair.

Or hankies kept for little ones
Who sneezed and coughed a lot
And often times a treat or two
Homemade and never bought.

And tho' but memories from the past
They're still quite fresh, you see
For Grandma and her apron
Were gifts from God to me.

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