Sit down and I'll tell you a story
Wrap yourself up in my quilt.
Here's a cup of my coffee
The wood stove is filled to the hilt.

Quilting is more than a hobby.
To me it is a record of life,
Recording for me all the good times,
Remembering for me all the strife.

This patch was made from a bunting.
The baby had now moved away.
And this one came from my sister,
From a dress that was yellow and grey.

Below this one from my brother
Is one from my aunt who just died.
If you look close you can cipher
Her signature on the left side.

And here over next to the corner
Is a piece from my mother's old skirt.
And this one right in the middle
Was made from my father's red shirt.

This one came out a bit crooked.
The material was faded and worn.
No wonder it looks so dejected,
It was woven before I was born.

Beneath this one at the bottom
Is one that is worth more than gold.
It came from my old winter jacket,
It kept me safe from the cold.

This blue one I found in the cellar
When we moved to this house long ago.
Who knows what story it covets,
This old, faded, worn calico.

Above the green one in the center
Is my most favorite one of all.
It looks like the leaves by the river
Just after they drop in the fall.

And let's not forget this pink gingham,
I know that it's seen better days,
But I like the way that it mingles
With the yellows and purples and greys.

Before you finish your coffee
And you have to be on your way,
Take a look at this one near the bottom,
It came from my Great Uncle Ray.

He traveled the world in a schooner,
He brought back such wonderful things.
The material is of the richest,
Fit only for princes and kings.

Some store their treasures in bank vaults,
Some keep them hidden away,
But I keep mine here on my quilt top
Where I can enjoy them each day.