Knitted Lace

Through the mirror of reflection,
Comes back years of sweetest grace.
When my Grandmother swayed the rocker,
As she hummed and knitted lace.

Smoke winding from the chimney,
In that early backwood-place.
With sounds of childrens' laughter,
As she sat and knitted lace.

Moccasin tracks were plenty,
From a wild and heathen race.
Yet Grandmother braved the hazards,
As she sat and knitted lace.

Her task was one of trial,
And true courage lined her face.
But Grandmother did not faulter,
As she sat and knitted lace.

O the strength of yellowed stitches,
Which we have now...to embrace.
Is the symbol of our heritage,
She left...while knitting lace.


E.P. 1908 - 1989