In My Quilting Class

My stitches aren’t even;
My squares don’t line up straight
And if you want a quilt from me,
It’s years you’ll have to wait.

Yet every Thursday, there I sit,
My needle pulling thread,
With not a thought beyond that room
Carousing in my head.

I’m calm, relaxed and in control
And while my scissors snip,
I bask in camaraderie
And crafting fellowship.

My projects hang around the house
And in my grandkids’ rooms,
But it is in my quilting class
Where my composure blooms.