BamaEagle's story about Grandpa's Hands reminded me of the poem I wrote for my mother for Mother's Day last year and I wanted to share it with you here for all Mothers out there.
My Mother's Hands
As I look into my mirror
On this frosty winter's morn
I see a face familiar
Though a little bit more worn
God has added a few new wrinkles
And my hair's a bit more thin
I often wonder how I'll look
Say, twenty years from then
I see how God keeps molding us
To become what we shall be,
And to my surprise, what do I find?
My mother's hands in front of me
The hands that dried a thousand tears
And made our sadness fly
The hands that held us while she rocked
As she sang sweet lullabies
Her long and slender fingers
That held on to ours so tight
Our fears and loneliness forgotten
As we walked out in the night
My mother's hands are precious
Through the years they've done so much
Her gifts of love and devotion
Surely have that heavenly touch
To have hands like my dear mother
Are blessings of layer upon layer
But to truly be like theirs in spirit
Will take a lifetime of love and prayer
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