ramblings and things

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A red toasting fire
On a cold winter night
In a three sided square 
Under a yellow electric light,
A bag of old rags 
Balanced on my knee
Down by my feet
Sweet milky tea.
Scissors in hand
I clipped up the rags 
Into three inch strips
Stored in little sacking bags.
Mam and dad smoking 
In a pleasant warm fug
Either side of the frame
As they made a clippie rug.
Soft warm rugs
To spread on all floor
Cutting out the draughts 
From the old front door.
Patterns and whirls
Designs to thrill
Coming from their minds
Coming from their skill.
Pricking and pushing
Drawing each clip through
Country winter's night
Not much else to do.
Never heard of recycling
In that life of no haste
Just very careful
Not to unduly waste.
Now sitting here,
Past my three score and ten,
I can close my eyes and
Conjure up that room again.
Safe with mam and dad
And feeling the warm hug,
Sitting reading on the floor,
From a soft clippie rug.
Just a country family
Poor as a church mouse
But there was so much love
In that little country house.
 
 
 
 

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Clippie Rug