As shadows stretched, and day began retreat.
A lonely lamp, with flickering, golden light,
Cast dancing shapes upon the darkened night.
A woman sat, with needle in her hand,
Sewing a quilt, on which her dreams did stand.
Each stitch a memory, each thread a tale,
Of laughter shared, and love that wouldn't fail.
She'd lost her husband, many years ago,
His laughter echoed, soft and low.
But in the quilt, his spirit still remained,
In every patch, his love was unrestrained.
She stitched and sighed, a tear upon her cheek,
As memories rose, both bitter and unique.
The quilt a tapestry, woven with her grief,
But also hope, and love's eternal brief.
With every stitch, a whisper of his name,
A love that burned, an undying flame.
She knew he'd watch, from realms beyond the sky,
His love for her, a comfort, never to die.
The clock struck twelve, the night was growing old,
She folded up the quilt, a story to unfold.
For in its threads, a life was carefully sewn,
A love eternal, never to be known.