My Mama's hands will never grow old,
No matter the twisted, fickle years.
They've held the brightst gems of joy
And softly dried my childish tears.
My Mama's hands raise the glorious sun
And set the restless stars in the evening sky.
Filled with grace and sultry passion,
Their luminous beauty is quiet and shy.
They danced across the crinkled pages
Of my young and thoughtless life;
Taught me fearless love for children,
And how to be a strong and faithful wife.
With the magic of creative stroke,
With each caring touch and soft caress,
They sowed the seeds of grace and poise
Into ever stitch she made in every dress.
The music of their movements
Will forever play across my mind.
And, now that I am a woman
I'm not surprised to find...
All her words and thoughtful actions
Spun my life's web of lovely strands,
And her love was always measured
By the gentle touch of Mama's hands.