Poetry

---

My Mother’s Hands

Hands gentle enough to bandage a knee,
Hands playful enough to climb a tree.

Hands firm enough to set me straight,
Hands caring enough to fill my plate.

Hands to hold and comfort me,
Hands that fold on bended knee.

Hands that open up God’s Word,
Hands that live by what is heard.

Whether young and smooth or wrinkled and old,
My mother’s hands, I love to hold.


Copyright 2001 Rev. Jimmy Tarrant

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE