GloMag GloMagMay2019 - Page 203 THE APRON! Rocking in the Chair, Blinking with each squeak, There sat the Apron, worn out and piqued! Patches irregular, of indurate stains, In shredded threads, reside memories of hope and pain! Ohh that grease, from the weeping oven, Delicious delights, but stained the woven! 203