My son has kept my hands completely full for the past few days. Time having run out on me again tonight, I thought I would share a poem written a few years ago that seems somehow appropriate…
My Mother’s Hands
I see my mother’s hands before my eyes
The first caress that I had ever known,
And with a thrill of wonder realise
The hands I see before me are my own.
Where did the decades go, I have to ask,
At what point did my springtime slip away?
Is this mid-summer sun in which I bask
Or has the autumn brought a shorter day?
A mellowing has softened me, I know,
Yet coloured me with richer hue and shade,
And written on my face a map to show
The world the choices I have made.
I too can read the story as I look
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