My Mother’s Hands

My Mother’s Hands

 

Dear gentle hands have stroked my hair

And cooled my brow,

Soft hands that pressed me close

And seemed to know somehow,

Those fleeting moods and erring thoughts

That cloud my day,

Which quickly melt beneath their suffrage

And pass away.

 

No other balm for earthly pain

Is half so sure,

No sweet caress as filled with love

Nor half so pure.

No other soul so close akin that understands,

No touch that brings such perfect peace as Mother’s hands.

 

~Charlotte G. Slater       1.18.01

Charlotte von Wolfle Greer