Though not spun of golden thread
Or silk from Orient’s shore,
Gramma Emmie’s aprons
Were made from love and more.

Some were made of flour sacks,
Bright colors of rainbow hue.
Sewn with needle and colored thread
By her own hands, so true .

They were from a day gone by
When useful ways were known,
Given their purpose, morn ‘til night
Before her children grown.

Her apron hung around her waist,
Tied by apron strings,
Ready to protect her dress,
Baking flour and other things.

Throughout the day, the fabric
Withstood its own vast needs,
The times it dried her busy hands
After gardening and thinning weeds.

It was also there to dry the tears
Of babies at her knee.
It held them safe upon its lap
When sandman they could see.

So, don’t just see the fabric
Of faded threads, not rare,
But see the love and cherish
The memories of her care.

From Squidoo Lens, "Echoes Of Reminiscence"
http://www.squidoo.com/reminiscence