The Quilter’s Night Before Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And the quilts were not made.
The threads were all tangled,
the cookies delayed.

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The stocking weren’t hung,
the pantry was bare.
The poor weary Quilter,
was tearing her hair.

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Stacks of fat quarters,
tipped over in streams.
Visions of Log Cabins,
had turned into dreams.

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When what to her wondering eyes should appear,
But a bus full of quilters with all of their gear.
They went straight to work with just a few mutters,
Sorting and stitching and brandishing cutters.

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The patterns emerged from all of the clutter,
Like magic the fabrics arranged in a flutter.
Log Cabins, Lone Stars, Flying Geese and Bear Tracks -
Each quilt was a beauty – even the backs.

.

Her house how it twinkled,
her quilts how they glowed.
The cookies were baking,
the stockings were sewed.

.

Their work was all done,
so they folded their frames,
And packed up their needles,
without giving their names.

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They boarded the bus,
and checked the next address.
More quilts to be made,
another quilter in distress.

.

She heard one voice echo,
as they drove out of sight,
Happy quilting to all and
to all a good night!

.

Author Unknown