She'd ask me to fetch it for her
I didn't mind the simple chore
I knew right where to find it
Stored in the breakfront's lower left door.
To me it was a magical box
Covered in a pink floral quilt
I always carried it carefully-
Lest any of it spilt.
While she'd sit there mending,
Into the box I dove!
It was filled with so many things
A virtual treasure trove!
I loved to play with all the thimbles
Till each finger had one on
It kept me busy for a bit
They had my young attention drawn.
Then I'd fiddle with all those spools
So many colors of thread,
Once in awhile I'd touch a wayward needle
And my little fingertip bled.
Grandma sat there darning socks
Or taking up a hem
She didn't mind me playing in there
Long as I took care with them.
She had in there, this big pair of scissors
Old and heavy pinking shears,
When I'd use them to cut up construction paper
Zig zags would magically appear!
I have those scissors now-
Grandma gave them to me
She doesn't hardly sew anymore...
Her eyes too old to see.
Such sweet and simple memories have I
From playing in her sewing box carefree,
I hope that when her days have past-
Grandma's sewing box comes to me.