My Mother's Hands

My Mother’s Hands


Lined and worn, her weathered hands
are miracles. They've met demands
that others would have paled before,
such burdens have her strong hands bore.

When needed, they have shown the strength
to keep a sad world at arm’s length
and cradled, strong, protectively,
to shield those in her family.

In youth they held a true love's face
and, in time, a child's embrace.
They were used to nurture and to guide.
They were used with love, never pride.

Each line and mark upon her skin
is a testament to the heart within.
While outwardly they speak of duty
in my eyes they shine with beauty.

She's been gone now for many years
yet her memory still invokes tears.
When I need comfort, as I grow older,
I still feel her touch upon my shoulder.

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Prompt: Write entries to be about a woman who has inspired you.