Cuilte Poem by Wemdy Adams

Sitting by my two bar fire
Listening to the gale outside,
Mittens keep my fingers warm
As they stitch and never tire
Sewing pieces large and small,
Silk and satin, cotton too,
Black, white and multi-coloured
Bits from blankets or from shawls,
Each one with a tale to tell,
Of christenings, births and funerals.
Haberdashers, market stalls,
Random hexagons sewn tight,
Stories interwoven through
Temporal and spatial choice,
Synthesised holistic sight.