Grandma's Apron
by Tina Trivett
The strings were tied, It was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.
For Grandma, it was everyday to choose one when she dressed.
The simple apron that it was, you would never think about;
the things she used it for, that made it look worn out.
She may have used it to hold, some wildflowers that she'd found.
Or to hide a crying child's face, when a stranger came around.
Imagine all the little tears that were wiped with just that cloth.
Or it became a potholder to serve some chicken broth.
She probably carried kindling to stoke the kitchen fire.
To hold a load of laundry, or to wipe the clothesline wire.
When canning all her vegetables, it was used to wipe her brow.
You never know, she might have used it to shoo flies from the cow.
She might have carried eggs in from the chicken coop outside.
Whatever chore she used it for, she did them all with pride.
When Grandma went to heaven, God said she now could rest.
I'm sure the apron that she chose, was her Sunday best.
I miss you Grandma...
Mom's Apron by:Loyd C. Taylor
While thumbing through the old photo album,
A particular one my eyes fixed upon:
It was of Mom in her blue Sunday dressAnd wearing a soiled yellow apron.
I smiled as in my mind I returned,
It seemed just like it was yesterday;
For I had left my small hand prints on it
From playing in the Carolina red clay.
Mom had called us into dinner;
I could smell Sunday chicken fried.
So I ran in and threw my arms around her,
As on my hands the clay she spied.
Mom pinched my cheeks as she laughed out loud,
Told me to wash up and quickly sit down;
Then sister Mary Ruth took Mom’s picture.
We kids snickered, not Dad, he just made a frown.
Mom would always wear an apron;
Yellow was her favorite color.
I loved to sneak and untie it,
Hear her shout, “Scat, you little stinker! ”
Yes, the apron was Mom’s preference
Of all the clothing that she wore;
She donned it like a badge of honor,
Displayed it like some fancy decor.
She would wear it into the hen house,
Then shape it in a rounded fold;
There, softly place fresh eggs gathered,
Or shield baby chicks from the cold.
I’ve seen her use it for a basket
For garden tomatoes or fresh corn;
I even recall when it cradled
A dozen kittens newly born.
She’d reach down, pull it at the bottom,
Her dishpan hands to gently dry;
She would fan herself in hot weather,
Or wave it like a flag to say goodbye.
Why, Mom’s apron could hide a shy child,
Or wipe dirt from a little boy’s ear;
And she would keep a hankie in its pocket,
That’s one memory I still hold dear.
I have seen her pat a sweaty brow,
After cooking over an old wood stove;
Or use it for a potholder, as cornbread
From the oven she would remove.
She’d use it to carry ripe apples
That had just fallen to the ground;
Maybe collect crumbs from the table,
Toss them to the birds waitin’ ’round.
Yes, Mom’s apron had many uses,
From a tote bag to shooing flies;
But I’ve also seen her use it tenderly,
When she would wipe teary eyes.
Now, I suppose the apron was invented
To protect a mom’s pretty clothes;
But they must have had my Mom in mind,
How she loved it... heaven only knows.
And I don’t reckon that too many ladies
Would care a whit for it these days;
But my mom proved its great value,
As she used it in so many ways.
While thumbing through the old photo album,
A particular one my eyes fixed upon:
It was of Mom in her blue Sunday dress
And wearing a soiled yellow apron.
I smiled as in my mind I returned,
It seemed just like it was yesterday;
For I had left my small hand prints on it
From playing in the Carolina red clay.
Mom had called us into dinner;
I could smell Sunday chicken fried.
So I ran in and threw my arms around her,
As on my hands the clay she spied.
Mom pinched my cheeks as she laughed out loud,
Told me to wash up and quickly sit down;
Then sister Mary Ruth took Mom’s picture.
We kids snickered, not Dad, he just made a frown.
Mom would always wear an apron;
Yellow was her favorite color.
I loved to sneak and untie it,
Hear her shout, “Scat, you little stinker! ”
Yes, the apron was Mom’s preference
Of all the clothing that she wore;
She donned it like a badge of honor,
Displayed it like some fancy decor.
She would wear it into the hen house,
Then shape it in a rounded fold;
There, softly place fresh eggs gathered,
Or shield baby chicks from the cold.
I’ve seen her use it for a basket
For garden tomatoes or fresh corn;
I even recall when it cradled
A dozen kittens newly born.
She’d reach down, pull it at the bottom,
Her dishpan hands to gently dry;
She would fan herself in hot weather,
Or wave it like a flag to say goodbye.
Why, Mom’s apron could hide a shy child,
Or wipe dirt from a little boy’s ear;
And she would keep a hankie in its pocket,
That’s one memory I still hold dear.
I have seen her pat a sweaty brow,
After cooking over an old wood stove;
Or use it for a potholder, as cornbread
From the oven she would remove.
She’d use it to carry ripe apples
That had just fallen to the ground;
Maybe collect crumbs from the table,
Toss them to the birds waitin’ ’round.
Yes, Mom’s apron had many uses,
From a tote bag to shooing flies;
But I’ve also seen her use it tenderly,
When she would wipe teary eyes.
Now, I suppose the apron was invented
To protect a mom’s pretty clothes;
But they must have had my Mom in mind,
How she loved it... heaven only knows.
And I don’t reckon that too many ladies
Would care a whit for it these days;
But my mom proved its great value,
As she used it in so many ways.
by Doris Ahls c1993
My Mother always wore an apron
Tied on in the back with strings.
She wore it to save her Sunday dress
She used it for many things.
Some of her aprons were very plain,
Others trimmed with ruffles and lace.
But every apron had a pocket
Sewn on the front some place.
In her pocket, she carried a hankie,
Some pins and a band aid or two
She always had the right stuff in her
pocket
To do the job she needed to do.
I remember she’d go to the hen house,
Gather her apron hem up in one hand,
Then put all the eggs in her handy basket
She never ever used a pan.
She used her apron as a towel
When her wet hands she needed to dry;
And always used it to dry our tears
Whenever we started to cry.
And if a fly invaded the house
And a fly swatter wasn’t near by,
She’d take off her apron and fan the air
To soon dispense with that fly.
Always her apron had a special place,
It hung on a hook on the kitchen door.
She would never be caught without
her apron
No matter what else she wore.
Today you don’t see old fashioned aprons
I guess they’re a part of the past.
But I remember Mother wearing an apron
Right up to the very last!!
~My Apron String~
I tied my apron strings and waltzed into the kitchen
To do all the things, that can’t be kept waiting!
And there by the sink waits a mountain of dishes,
And there all just for me,
I just smile and start to sing, cuz I know;
I’ve tied my apron strings!
There never done, there never thru,
There’s always some, just for you.
But tis a happy enterprise
One that makes you ever wise,
I don’t complain;
Nope, it’s against the rules.
You might think your work is awfully cool;
But the perks of my job
Make me feel like a queen,
Once I’ve tied –My Apron Strings.
~ Renee Stokes
Mother's Apron by David Pekrul
It hangs there on the kitchen wall,
A tattered apron, that is all,
But there is something I recall,
The love when Mother wore it.
From early morn 'till setting sun,
Her work, it seems, was never done,
Us children kept her on the run,
That apron, I adore it.
When chased by angry bumble bees,
And then my Mother rescued me,
And in the process tore it.
It tells of when I stayed home ill,
With burning fever, then a chill,
And on her apron, tonic spilled,
Because I tried to pour it.
My mother had no fancy clothes,
With satin ribbons, lace or bows,
But in that apron, love she showed,
And we could not ignore it.
And now it hangs upon the wall,
What looked so large, appears so small,
A mem'ry since I learned to crawl,
I know now why she wore it.
Mother's Apron
By Joyce Johnson
Mother wore an ample apron
to cover her clean dress.
She'd tell you that's what it was for
if you asked her, I would guess.
But that apron had more uses
than I could even count.
It brought in eggs and vegetables
and could hold a large amount.
I've seen her use that apron
to wipe her dripping brow
as she labored over the big range
that's just an antique now.
Her apron could bring giggles
in a game of peek-a-boo
with her newest, sweet grandbaby
as she hid her face from view.
When we kids were hurt or crying
we'd run to find her lap.
She'd wipe the falling tears away
with a bit of apron flap.
That apron dusted tables
and shooed away the flies.
It did just fine as oven mitts
to take out bubbling pies.
But the greatest of the treasures
that old apron could hold,
was the endless love from Mother
abiding in each fold.
