Memories fade, and friends move on,
But in my heart they're bound;
I've pulled them into my crazy quilt
And stitched them all around.

I've pricked my finger many times,
But I soon forget the pain,
For my crazy quilt is a wondrous quilt,
That can never be made again.

I pull it 'round me every night
And I feel the love that's there,
All stitched up in my crazy quilt,
Each friend, a colour rare.

I've travelled tracks, this way and that,
All up and down my life,
Those crooked stitches, funny patches,
Daughter, mother, wife.

My fingers trace the criss-cross path
That joins each memory,
And I wonder at the landscape fair
That my life has come to be.

As I live each day, I'll find a way
To gather patches new,
I'll pull them into my crazy quilt
And I'll stitch them carefully too.

When the world seems scary,
Dark and dim,
I won't despair or moan,
For I'll feel the warmth of my crazy quilt
And know I'm not alone.
  Edie Batstone