Her Hands by Maggie Pittman
Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath
Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.
Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.
Her hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.
Her hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.
Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them at length.
Her hands would also push me, though not down or in harms way.
Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Her hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.
Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.
Her hands are now twisting with age and years of work,
Her hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Her hands are the reason I am me.
My Mom Nellie
This poem describes my beautiful Mom who is now 86. Her hands are twisted with arthritis but she dosen't complain. I can remember as a child how she made so many of my school clothes and put my hair in a ponytail. How she clapped her HANDS when I performed in my school programs or played my violin in a school concert.
Her hands were busy helping others in our church, cooking all of our meals, waving goodby all the way down the street when we were going somewhere and anxious for us to get back.
Another poem written in 1865 by William Ross Wallace was written to praise motherhood. "The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world", the poem was written to show that mothers were a preeminent force for change in the world.
I've got to give a HAND to the team members of ABC Wednesday who I am linking with today for ABC Wednesday.