MOTHER'S HANDS


They cradled my head as a baby,
Changed me whenever I cried,

She worried when I had the measles,
Her love was never denied,

They rubbed my chest when I had the flu,
Patted my back, graduation day,

She worked making pickles and jelly too,
Steered me right when I went astray,

She wanted only what was best for me,
Waved when I left for a distant land,

When she gauged my fever, I could feel upon my brow,
The cool, smooth touch of her hand.

by D. Edgar Murray