Tiny Handprints On the Glass

As I sit and look out my window I dream of days gone past; My memory drifts to happy times Of tiny handprints on the glass. I can still hear their little voices sing, still see them running through the grass, Their favourite toys in disarray, Their tiny handprints on the glass. Those chubby little hands in mine, No other memory can surpass; Little hands that played and loved and prayed, And left their prints upon the glass. Those little hands are now all grown For time does surely pass, And from them God's blessed once again, With tiny handprints on the glass. I sit and look out my window now, I watch the season go by fast, Rich with the love from God above, And tiny handprints on the glass. .......Shiraine