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How I took for granted, thee!
Now, reaching an age, I began to ponder.
Their truly outstanding history.
Hands that once with grand wonderment
stared at crayon colors.
Tanned, dimpled hands of a girl
Who on beaches made sand castles!
Whilst the waters of Lake Michigan swirled.
And above her pigtailed head,
Clouds moved in tender dance, all
shades of pastels.
In her tutu at the mirror she stared
Her hands loved that Ballef barre
Mother has her costumes by a seamstress
made, because she cared!
The mini Swan Lake-star,looked in her
Mother's tear-filled eyes and with
In elbowed satin gloves at age sixteen,
she bowed gracefully.
She gave that hand to her proud
father to rise.
A very proud parent of his proud
The same hands in schools, years
later covered with chalk.
She made a professional decision
to teach in the ghetto schools of
Chicago and walk her talk.
Not just to say that a "few friends
of mine are black."
But to contribute to black children
getting the best education, of that
there was certainly,a lack!
These same hands who pen this,
poem,not only went to the theater.
But became an improvisational actress,
a stand up comic who held a silvered-
And later,with a beauteous daughter,
by God was she so blessed.
She still remembers the smell of
that angelic hair,as Maria,breathed ever
so softly on her chest.
Now, look at your hands, that have their
own unique history.
God given appendages,,so strong, so rich
with your life's mysteries and histories!
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