I remember sitting as a girl
in the raftered balcony of the church
during morning worship service,
craddling my mother’s hand in my lap;
examining creases in her warm palm,
tracing distinct veins across the back,
touching the smooth pale pink polish
on her clean, neatly shaped nails,
fingering the circle of her wedding ring;
turning its diamond to catch the light
filtering through stained glass windows,
trying to glimpse each rainbowed hue.
Mom thought her hands were “too large”
but those dear hands were just big enough
to shape hearts and home, to hold our family
together, with their faithful, gentle work of love.
Mar 29, 2016 @ 22:13:13
SMiLes oF thE
mother’s hAnd
radiates into
middle
age
and further
into children’s
hands so warm
so true
so bRiGht
as LiGht..
iS
LOVE..
@Hand..:)
Mar 30, 2016 @ 06:09:27
Thanks, friend, for this LOVE-ly comment!