Mamaw’s Hands

By Sheila King

The withered hands once strong and sure,

   Though weighed with time and trembling now,

Moved by love, through pain made pure;

   Oft touched the fevered brow

They toiled in diligence and patient love,

   The precious fruits of life to tend,

As though guided from above

   All cares, all sorrows, theirs to mend.

Frail hands I wrap safe up in mine,

One last sweet touch, then softly gone

To fold in rest until the time

They wake and journey on.

© 2016