your giving hands

When I was a baby, your giving hands carried me because I couldn’t walk.
When I was five, your giving hands held my hand when we were walking on the streets.
When I was eight, your giving hands stroked my hair to comfort me when I was sad.
Forever, your giving hands made delicious food and planted beautiful flowers.
Forever, your giving hands stood for care, love and hard work.
I thank you and your giving hands because now my hands can give.

This poem is about my mother.  She’s always done the best she could to take care of my family and I feel like I’m learning a little each day how to be as strong as she is.

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