silverhawk wrote:
You can definitely share your poem.....I'm sure everyone will be awaiting it...I am..... :thumbup: :thumbup:
Thanks. I wrote this as a tribute of godly women I have known, my mother among them.
Sure Hands
The baby's hands wer chubby, small,
and hardly good for anything at all...
except of course to help her crawl!
The girl's hands were smooth and fair.
They dressed her little doll
and combed its stringy hair.
The woman's hands were graceful things.
In faith, they folded soon in prayer,
in love received a wedding ring.
Mother's hands were strong and sure.
They made all manner of things,
cleaned all kinds of things,
fixed all sorts of things...
and folded often in prayer.
Mom's hands were strong and sure.
They combed her children's hair,
brushed her own long tresses,
and folded often in prayer.
Mother's hands were strong and sure.
You always found some comfort there
to cope with your distresses,
upheld by hands that folded often in prayer.
Grandma's hands were getting old, for sure,
but busy, strong, and caring,
always quick to find that candy dish,
and folded often still in prayer.
Great-grandmother's hands were pale,
but still sure to find the candy dish,
and caring as you might wish,
and folded often in prayer.
Her hands have come to rest,
folded, frail,
across her burial dress.
Hardly good for anything at all...
they move us nonetheless
and teach a lesson still
on what it means to be a handmaid
of the Lord.
Rest child, rest.
The mighty hands that made all things,
the pierced hands that bore all things,
the caring hands that bear all things,
the hands of Him to whom we turn in prayer,
the graceful hands of Christ,
are strong and sure.
J. Veltman