Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MY MOTHER'S HANDS, by ALBERTINE O. HALL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY MOTHER'S HANDS, by                    
First Line: Dear, sweet, tired hands that were my mother's
Last Line: Dear, sweet, tired hands that were my mother's.
Subject(s): Hands; Mothers


Dear, sweet, tired hands that were my mother's --

Once they were soft as drifting snow, and fair
As lilies nodding in the summer air;
They twinkled lightly o'er the ivory keys
And flashed among their trite embroideries.

Then they were swift and eager for their work,
No task so burdensome that they would shirk;
Dear hands! Strong hands to smooth a fevered brow!
Oh! would that they were here to lead me now!

See! They are battle-scarred and old; the veins
Stand out like straggling anthills on the plains;
The final garment's smoothed and laid away,
For those dear hands have had their little day.

Dear, sweet, tired hands that were my mother's.





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