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by Cindy O'Connor

My mama's hands were not things of beauty,
at least to those who did not understand...
Those who had not felt the love and healing touch of my mama's care worn hand.
They had washed her childrens clothes on a washboard,
using the harsh lye soap she made.
But it is the gentle touch of those hands that will not let her memory fade.
When I was faced with bitter disappointment,
When things were not going as I planned...
I found the courage to start anew In the touch of my mama's hand.
When a childhood disease had me in it's grasp
And I lay sleepless with fevered brow,
It was her soft touch, as an Angels wing,
That told me that things would be better now.
But that same hand was not so gentle When to my butt it was applied,
When I had done some dastardly deed...especially when I lied.
When love or life were not going right or when I was faced with problems at every hand,
It was that loving touch that gave me hope...
That touch that seemed to say,
I understand.
When my journey on earth is over,
In our dear Lord's promised land,
I know that I will again feel the touch of my mama's loving hand.

Cindy O'Connor


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Cindy O'Connor's poems are all copyrighted. Please credit.

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