The apron is like a mother to a child.
It is a source of protection,
Like cover for a soldier in battle,
Like a shield in a sword fight,
Like shelter on a rainy day,
Like refuge after destruction.

The apron is always caring.
You may jest and laugh at me,
But not the apron,
It listens and understands
How I feel,
What I think,
What I want.

The apron is always there for you
It is a close figure that has nurtured you
For many years since you were a baby.

The apron brings back memories.
The canvas I sit before is blank,
Empty,
Waiting for me to tell my stories and memories.
My mind is flooded with recollections
When I picture the apron,
With food splatters,
And my small handprints.
I see the colours merging to form
A lifetime of emotions, memories and stories.