Many thanks to Kristen Loffler (Chatham) for
sharing this poem which she found with a crazy
quilt made by her husband's great-grandmother:
A Crazy Quilt
They do not make them any more,
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, and grace and guilt,
With here and there a square of blue
For 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, after all.
by Douglas M. Malloch (1877-1938)
Born in Muskegon, Michigan, Douglas Malloch was
a poet, short story writer and the associate editor
of "American Lumberman," a trade paper.
Along with William Otto Miessner, he was
commissioned to write his state's song:
"Michigan, My Michigan." This poem is from
The Romance of the Patchwork Quilt in America.
For a treat, check out Quilting in America:
