Array ( [sid] => 3199 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => HANDS [time] => 2002-09-01 20:51:05 [hometext] => [bodytext] => Hands that healed,
And hands that led.
Hands that scrubbed,
And hands that bled.

Hands that held,
And beckoned come.
Hands that made
Our house a home.

Hands that cooked,
And hands that fed.
And hands that tucked us
Into bed.

Hands that folded
Into prayer.
When thanking our Lord
For His care.

Hands that now
Join Gods’ above.
Hands that still
Reach down in love.

Hands that someday
When I come,
I’ll want to hold,
The hands of Mom.

TO ALL THE MOMS’ IN THE WORLD.

[comments] => 1 [counter] => 150 [topic] => 23 [informant] => Robert_Edgar_Burns [notes] => [ihome] => 1 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 5 [ratings] => 1 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => FamilyPoems ) Your Poetry Dot Com - HANDS


HANDS
Date: Sunday, 1st September 2002 @ 08:51:05 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Robert_Edgar_Burns
Hands that healed,
And hands that led.
Hands that scrubbed,
And hands that bled.

Hands that held,
And beckoned come.
Hands that made
Our house a home.

Hands that cooked,
And hands that fed.
And hands that tucked us
Into bed.

Hands that folded
Into prayer.
When thanking our Lord
For His care.

Hands that now
Join Gods’ above.
Hands that still
Reach down in love.

Hands that someday
When I come,
I’ll want to hold,
The hands of Mom.

TO ALL THE MOMS’ IN THE WORLD.



This poem is Copyright © Robert_Edgar_Burns


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