by Maggie Ingall
as a butterfly, Or subtle as a moth, The fabric finds its magic in The placing of the cloth. The choosing and the cutting, The patterns and the pins, The dance of flashing needle . . . The alchemy begins. The scraps take on a structure With every coloured thread No picture quite emerging Until we see it spread. And then the true enchantment, The magic is displayed With care and skilful patience – A perfect quilt’s been made!