Wednesday, July 05, 2006

She made warm winter blankets

There are blackbirds singing.
They don't realise she's gone.
They won't miss her chatter, or
how she sang when her fingers
sewed, quilting pieces, making
layers out of the material
passed on
from tiny shirts, or dancing
skirts and stitched in time, much
as they darn their nests tight
against winter.

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