The Stockings Were Hung…

Made with love
Upon each grandchild's arrival
Regardless of the month.
She would run to the fabric store
And comb through the patterns
To find just the right scene for the new baby.
Felt cut with accuracy
And layered just so
Then stitched with steady hands
And held in place by the tiny sequins
Painstakingly arranged and sewed
Her eyes feeling the strain.
We lost her this year
No 90th celebration tomorrow.
But her stockings were hung
As they always will be
And she will be remembered
For all of our days.

Photo:  Flemington, NJ.  12.25.22 by LA

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