What a wonderful prelude to Mother’s Day! As with all her writings, Mary Helen Ferris strikes our heartstrings releasing innermost melodious chords!
I watch women’s hands.
I learn from them.
Some hands are open.
Some hands are closed.
Some hands are baking.
Some hands are making
clothes, mending or brand new.
Some hands will always have to “make do.”
Some hands are willing.
Some have no choice.
Some are speaking instruments
For those without voice.
Gabriel Corno
Grandmother’s hands were cleaning, crocheting, caressing.
With her hands there was no second guessing.
Now there were moments when on a fevered brow
Those hands were healing With a gentle “Hush, now.”
Mother’s hands were gaily saying
“Clean your room, get your books,
get ready for church,
or come sit near its time for praying”
I wonder as I ponder
looking in the past
Just how wonderful their hands are now.
Now there are no more chores to do.
Now there are only “angel jobs’
and Souls’ to “pray through”
Up there is just…
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