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Such beautiful, beautiful hands!
My Mother's Hands
Such beautiful, beautiful hands! They're neither white nor small, And you, I know, would scarcely think That they were fair at all. I've looked on hands whose form and hue A sculptor's dream might be, Yet are those wrinkled, aged hands More beautiful to me. Such beautiful, beautiful hands! Though heart were weary and sad, These patient hands kept toiling on That the children might be glad. I always weep, as looking back To childhood's distant day, I think how those hands rested not When mine were at their play. Such beautiful, beautiful hands! They're growing feeble now; For time and pain have left their mark On hands and heart and brow. Alas, alas! the nearing time And the sad, sad day to me, When 'neath the daisies out of sight These hands will folded be. But oh! beyond this shadow-land, Where all is bright and fair, I know full well these dear old hands Will palms of victory bear; Where crystal streams through endless years Flow over golden sands, And where the old grow young again, I'll clasp my mother's hands. |
The Following User Says Thank You to Farrukh Aziz For This Useful Post: | ||
Wali Ahad (Monday, July 09, 2012) |
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