My momma's hand could sew a row
Of stitches so neat and straight
The clothes she made for me to wear
Were the best there was around.
To the Five and Ten we would make a trip
For material that was just right
Did not matter what the project
A dress, a blouse, some shorts.
Sometimes the material would come
From that fancy fabric store up town
The one with bolts and bolts of material
From the ceiling down to the floor.
I would climb up on that great big stool
With my mommas help no doubt
We would look at patterns for what seemed hours
As the world out side went by.
Finding what she thought would be
best for her skinny little girl
She ask the lady to cut her this please
And that and this and no ribbons or lace.
She knew I was just her little tomboy
Who loved to climb the trees
And fall down on her little side
And scrape her knobby knees
At home on her old Singer machine
The one with the low, low hum
She would sit and sew and sing and sing
Such sweet, sweet songs of melody.
Before long there it would be
Something beautiful just for me
"No, wait" my momma would say
"I have to hem it first "
So with hands so steady and
Needle so tiny the stitching she would start
Stitches so small you could not see
She could sew so wonderfully
But as the years passed by
And her hands gave way to pain
Her eyes could no longer see
She did not sit at that old machine
Momma no longer makes my clothes
For Jesus she has gone to see
With hands pain free, and eyes so clear
Looking down on you and me.
Even though her tiny stitches of love
Are no longer on my clothes
They are near me and I know because
Her memory has helped stitch up my broken heart.