Mother’s Hands

Wary and worn,
Your hands are torn,
Between fragile and strong.

To smooth a child’s hair,
or wipe away their tears.
For scrubbing dirty dishes,
and cleaning messy faces.

For hours with a knife, to prepare a meal.
Or combing back your child’s hair.

Your hands are strong,
and not so soft.
Your undermined of the things you do,
to other your job seems only to easy.
But for that is far from the truth.

To rock a baby and sing a lullaby,
to calming the fears of a toddler.
For as the years go by your hands began to age,
As does the rest of you.

For those long hour drives,
and hugging good bye.

Your hands are not unappreciated I see the gift you given me.
The sacrifices they’ve made for me.

Though I keep silent,
and have my moments.

For I know that,
My mothers hands were the ones to nourish me.
They raised me to be who I am, and comforted me when needed.

There are no other hands
Like a mother’s.

About the Author:My name is Katie Dodd I’m 16 years old, and live in Clifton, Tennessee. My hobbies are reading, writing, walking, occasionally riding horses, and a lot of other activities. My passions are animals first and then comes writing. I love making random stories up or writing poetry to express feelings. I have a lot of goals in life like finishing college, and opening my own vet clinic and animal shelter. I also want to get one of my stories published. I can get very passionate about things like the government and my beliefs. I like debating, and just sharing what I know. Out of all the subjects in school I’d say History is my favorite, it may be the past but it’s what shaped the world and changed a lot of things.”

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