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A soft tender hand;
Emitting its charm.
Bound with a promise;
To do us no harm.

Its fingers somewhat;
Dense areas of nerve.
Tangled deep in chore;
Infinite care deserve.

The sense of touch;
Associated with hand.
Catering to our needs;
Our every command.

The palm is central;
Anterior of hand.
Not striking once;
Thorough reprimand.

However this hand;
Belonging to mother;
Whose warmth akin;
To heat of Summer.

 

Photo Credits:Β www.dailymotion.com

(Title, taken from the poem “A hand”, by Jane Hirshfield. DedicatedΒ to my loving mother on Mother’s Day.)

Posted on Sunday Mini-Challenge @ Real Toads

also posted on the Poetry Pantry @ Poets United