Hands

She paused beside the coffin as a tear ran down her face.She gently touched-then held a hand; it's lines she softly traced.The same hand her father had once held upon a bended knee,as he nervously had asked the girl, “Will you marry me?”The touching brought her comfort; for a moment, eased her pain.She said goodbye but made a vow to see her Mom again.The memories then came flooding back, from months and years ago,of loving hands that touched her life and taught a child to sew.Of hands that held her children as she wiped away their tears,and made them feel important as her touch removed their fears.Hands so strong, yet tender; hands blessed with artistic grace,Hands grandchildren loved to feel on each mischievous face.Now drifting back, a daughter knew the time had come to part;to keep inside the love that came from hands that touched her heart.

Comments

brooklynrow22

I wrote this poem for my mother when my grandmother passed away. It is something very dear to both our hearts.

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