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Crochet Doilies Poems

In the Shadow of the Design

When I found the doily
it lay folded,
forgotten among the trappings
of my family gatherings,

its unfolding released
dusty and hazy memories
intensified by the motion
of my hands

as I smoothed away
the creases.

Yellowed threads,
looped and knotted
by the strength of ancestral history

created a lacy snowflake
on the wall when held up
in the day's streaming brilliance.

I found my grandmother
in the shadow of the design.

I watched as she stroked my hair and
smoothed the doily over the headrest
of the stuffed chair in her parlor.

The sun moved and I lost her.

Two loose threads dangled
from the doily's edging
each going its own way

as generations will,
but still bound by the constancy
of kindred connections.

by Susan B. Auld
website source: Poems by ISPS Members

Grandmother’s Crochet

A sun on my dresser
woven in threads,
like a snowflake
in intricate patterns
hiding a secret
of a young woman
just turned thirteen
preparing her dowry
for a man she’s never seen.

He’s twenty years older
and a man of the trade.
He’ll be the sun for her
and she’ll be the snowflake.
She’ll sparkle in his rays
with borrowed beauty
then melt away in silence
her will to his glory.
Her secret she’ll share
to a distant granddaughter
spread on a doily
atop her dresser.

by Mireille Kalfayan
website source:


The real good of a piece of lace,
then, you will find, is that it should show,
first, that the designer of it had a pretty fancy;
next, that the maker of it had fine fingers;
and lastly, that the wearer of it has worthiness or dignity enough to obtain what is difficult to obtain, and common sense enough not to wear it on all occasions.

by John Ruskin
website source: Lace Making Central