Posts Tagged ‘apron’



Her hair a braided, silver bun

With wisps that hung astray.

Laugh lines cornered impish eyes

Of warmest feather-gray.


Her cheeks were plump and nature-rouged.

She had a dimpled chin.

The corners of her mouth turned up

In ever present grin.


Voluminous cotton granny-dress

That almost swept the floor

And unlaced high-top tennis shoes

Are what she always wore.


She smelled of spice and gingerbread

And tasty things to eat,

And in her apron pockets

We could always find a treat.


She’d shuffle ‘round her kitchen,

Cooking everything she found.

As our hunger made us salivate,

It was hard to wait around.


So she had us pare the apples,

That she would use that day,

Then shell some peas and snap some beans,

So we weren’t in her way.         


She never failed to show her love

With great big hug and kiss.

Then entertain with jokes and songs,

So visits there were bliss.


She stays alive within our minds,

And I remember well

How we treasured all those visits

To the home of dear Aunt Nell.


5/6/96         Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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Mama’s Apron

        MAMA’S APRON


I came to close the old homestead

Its structure old and frail

And found a token from the past

Left hanging on a nail

Just a piece of faded gingham

Plain and gathered full

With bands my Mama tied behind

Which Papa loved to pull

A tear sought solace on my cheek

I held the apron fast

For memories stirred my heart and soul

As I recalled its past

It carried eggs in from the nest

And apples from our grove

It carried harvest to the house

And kindling for the stove

It wiped away the children’s tears

It chased the flies away

It often was a wrap-a-round

When sister went to play

When Mama cooked and baked for us

It held hot pots and pans

And if the kitchen got too warm

It=s corners served as fans

It also was a shoulder cape

When Mama cut our hair

It made a dandy hideaway

When draped across a chair

I saw it chase the birds away

In Mama’s garden rows

And once it stemmed the steady flow

From brother’s bloody nose

On week-end nights when I was small

And washtub baths were due

The apron hung between two chairs

Protecting me from view

And now it functions once again

As in those by-gone years

It’s folds are lifted to my eyes

To wipe away my tears



3/23/92         Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck


1’st Ind. NPD 1992       4’th. Ark.NPD 1993

1’st PAW 1993          1’st. Ark. PWC 1994

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