The Patchwork Quilt

I remember the patchwork quilt my grandmother made for me.
Each tiny square stood for how much she loved me.
They, in turn, stood for one year each of her life,
minus the years that she was my grandmother.

The quilt has been moved from each house I have lived in.
Each day, it grows more dear to me,
as it was one that she made herself for me, when my parents
got me.
It is now too small for my bed,
so it is stored away as a treasured remembrance of my earlier life.

When I have children, I shall pass the quilt to them to cherish forever.
Grandma is gone, now,
but my fond cherished memories of her remain dear in that small
patchwork quilt,
memories that I shall keep close inside me for the rest of my life.