Under the quilting frame, hidden away,
Hemmed in by big ladies’ feet,
The fireplace crackling and blazing near-by
With welcome and comfortable heat,
Big ears had I, in my snug little cave
With biscuits and bacon to munch,
With the quilt for my ceiling, I listened real hard
To this busy and talkative bunch.
What would I hear from those quilters above me?
Would I soon know what big people know?
Would I hear answers to my many questions
As I listened, well-hidden, below?
I never discovered a one of the secrets
That these grown-ups knew but children did not
I soon became sleepy; my eyelids grew heavy
And I dozed right off in my warm, cozy spot.
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