Rushing to work one morning,
A splash of colours caught my eye.
On a clothesline strung between the corrugate wall of a shack,
And a nail hammered into a roadside tree,
Was strung a patchwork quilt far lovelier
Than any I had seen before.
No fancy shapes, no patented templates,
Just squares and rectangles in a pleasing array.
Leftover cloth was all that had been used,
The quilt was purely utilitarian.
Yet, it made me pause for a moment
As very few things make me do.
Was it beautiful because of the setting,
Or because it was so obviously cherished?
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