A Mother's Hands

These hands belong to my aunt, but were so much like
my mother's I asked if I could take a picture of her hands.

A Mother's Hands

I used to think: her small hands

Spread on her apron, are,

One, like the morning planet;

One, the evening star.

(Yet so seldom quiet-

Much, much to be done

For a home, a family,

Between a sun and sun.)

I used to think: they twinkle,

As she knits, she sew,

Takes bread from the oven,

Tends gay posy rows.

I used to think...but now that

God has strangely willed

A mother's precious, busy hands

Be heart-breaking stilled,

I wonder, was she called thence

Because He needed her-

Oh, not more than we-for tasks

Even starrier?

~Kitchen Sonnets by Ethel Romig Fuller

I haven't shared one of her poems for awhile.

She was poet laureate of Oregon many years ago.

My "live-in gardener" and his mother.

My daughter and her son.

Mothers hands hold precious ones, safely in their arms.
A smile, a look of wonder surrounds a mother and her child.

Happy weekend, dear friends!
Hope you are having a good one.