Profess Love 012018-10-22T05:50:30-04:00
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Poem written for a mother

My Mother’s Hands

My mother’s hands tilled the earth

And tended the beasts in the place of her birth

My mother’s hands tickled the ivories

Making many a party that much more lively

My mother’s hands were magic, I’m sure

On my fevered brow they seemed to cure

My mother’s hands once typed a paper for me

When I’d procrastinated and the hour was wee

My mother’s hands spent hours clasped in prayer

Her faith was beautiful and always there

My mother’s hands prepared meals that were nutritious

A few “science experiments” but most were delicious

My mother’s hands turned a house into a home

And gave us all a piece when it was our time to roam

When I’m missing those hands and all their charms

I’ll  just look down to the ends of my arms

Because my hands have grown to look  similar

But I can only hope they’ll measure up to her