My neighbor is washing her windows and scrubbing and mopping her floors.
My house is all topsy-turvy and dust is behind all the doors.
My neighbor keeps her house spotless - she goes all day long at a trot.
But no one will know in a fortnight if she swept today or not.
The task I am at is enticing – my neighbor is worn to a rag.
I am making a quilt out of pieces I have saved in a pretty chintz bag.
And the quilt – I know my descendants will exhibit with prideful heart,
“So lovely…my grandmother made it, an example of patience and art.”
But will her children remember her struggles with dirt and decay?
They will not – they will wish she had made them a quilt like I’m making today.