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.
© Maggie Pittman
Wishing you a beautiful Tuesday my sweet friends,
hugs and love,