The people we meet in our lives
are like patches—
some dark, some bright.
Put together,
they form a patchwork quilt,
stories upon which our lives are built.
As we open the trunk
to air old clothes,
out comes this patchwork shroud.
So many faces from the past flit by,
forgotten moments come alive.
Each patch has a story to tell—
of sun-kissed childhood,
raunchy youth,
adventurous marriage
and soothing motherhood;
of friends, families,
and dead parents.
So much love
woven into colourful threads.
My patchwork quilt,
I will not put you away
in the tin trunk again.
You will cover me
with fond memories,
and remind me
how good my life .
