Made of old scraps,
Which was made of its cousin before it.
Soft pink flowered fabric traps,
The love sewn into its bits.
A baby was born one summer day,
And presented with the soft spread.
But sharp teeth and eager fingers play,
And destroyed the present instead.
Her mother salvaged the gift and made another for her,
From its pieces and rips and threads and strips,
The cousin was born in this way.
And it still resides to this day,
Atop my bed,
Where it will stay.
It 'twas such a sweet night, and all through the house, nobody stirred. Not even a blanket. :P
*giggle* Thank you for reading silly mooses...or is it meese. xD
