Under the Quilting Frame

Under the Quilting Frame

Under the quilting frame, hidden away,

Hemmed in by big ladies’ feet,

The fireplace crackling and blazing near-by

With welcome and comfortable heat,

Big ears had I, in my snug little cave

With biscuits and bacon to munch,

With the quilt for my ceiling, I listened real hard

To this busy and talkative bunch.

What would I hear from those quilters above me?

Would I soon know what big people know?

Would I hear answers to my many questions

As I listened, well-hidden, below?

I never discovered a one of the secrets

That these grown-ups knew but children did not

I soon became sleepy; my eyelids grew heavy

And I dozed right off in my warm, cozy spot.

 

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