The old woman sits in her chair, rocks back and forth, a slow, steady rhythm,
with the old, faded quilt spread across her lap.
The rain patters on the window like thousands of glimmering diamonds.
The woman closes her eyes,
and traces her finger along the patchwork stars,
while humming an old, familiar tune.



***

She hears her mother sweetly singing a lullaby, her favorite childhood memory.

An owl is heard moaning in the distance, creating a peaceful yet inconsistent rhythm.
The checkered quilt, worn with love, is spread across the child’s lap.
In the darkness of night, the stars twinkle in the sky like scattered diamonds.
The child opens her eyes,
climbs onto her mother’s lap and begins to count the patchwork stars.


***

“I haven’t finished counting.” The child whispers, “still more stars.”
The mother gently cradles the child, and carries her inside; each step creates a memorable tune.
The child is tucked into bed, as a tree branch taps lightly, calming the child with its quiet rhythm.
The child reaches for the quilt, spreads it across her lap
and gazes at the iridescent sliver of moon brightly glowing like a sliver of diamond,
and the little girl closes her eyes.



***


The child is awakened and opens her eyes.
However, she has grown older, but the quilt is still spread across her lap, with its intricate stars.
She is humming a familiar tune,
as she cradles a small bundle and rocks back and forth in a slow, steady rhythm.
The woman kisses the bundle, and lays it across her lap.
She gazes into the tiny eyes, and tells her she is more precious than diamonds.




***

The old woman reminisces, as the tears roll down her face like liquid diamonds.
She clutches the worn quilt and dabs her tired eyes.
The woman runs her finger along the patchwork stars,
as the pitter-pattering of rain plays a sorrowful tune.
The old woman rocks back and forth, her chair creating a comforting rhythm,
as she gazes into the roaring fire and smoothes the quilt across her lap .




***

The tired woman is young once more, with the squirming bundle rested on her lap.
She smiles at her little girl, whose eyes twinkle like miniature diamonds.
The woman cannot help but close her eyes,
as the child rests peacefully, wrapped in the quilt, fingering its patchwork stars.
The woman hums a familiar lullaby, her own mother’s tune.
as the rocking chair serenades with its creaking rhythm.



***

The old woman opens her tired eyes, and holds the faded quilt in her lap.
She quietly hums her mother’s tune, as the rain outside pitter-patters in a slow, melancholy rhythm.



***

The old woman, worn like the faded patchwork stars, longs to be with her daughter who is more precious than diamonds.