Threads of all colors she kept in a case
That she used in her fine needlework art.
Lovely pictures hung all over the place,
And with none of them would she ever part.
Every scene was of her invention,
Drawn on fond memories throughout her years.
Several won honorable mention,
In exhibits where they sometimes appear.
Her fingers are now gnarled with arthritis,
And her needlework causes her much pain.
She works by a window where the light is
Best for failing eyes, but she won’t complain.
Her art has been therapy through her life,
Granting her peace and contentment as well.
It has been a way of avoiding strife,
And, at ninety-six, that’s easy to tell.