My Mothers Hands Such beautiful, beautiful hands! They're neither white nor small; And you, I know, would scarcely think That they are fair at all. I've looked on hands, whose form and hue A sculptors dream might be; Yet are those aged, wrinkled hands More beautiful to me. Such beautiful, beautiful hands! Though heart were weary and sad, Those patient kept toiling on, That the children might be glad. I always weep, as, looking back To childhood's distant day, I think how those hands rested not When mine were at their play. Such beautiful, beautiful hands! They're growing feeble now, For time and pain have left their mark On hands, and heart, and brow. Alas! alas! the nearing time, And the sad, sad day to me, When 'neath the daisies, out of sight, These hands will folded be.. But oh! beyond this shadow-land, Where all is bright and fair, I know full well these dear old hands Will palms of victory bear; Where crystal streams through endless years Flow over golden sands, And where the old grow young again, I'll clasp my mother's hands. Author Unknown Dedicated to my Mom. Estie S. Shelton Mother of Leroy Shelton Take a stop by Grab.com and pick up some useful sites LoriFlower Invites you to join. Poetry Express It is an Yahoo Group where she sends out Inspirational Pages Click to join poetry_express You are visitor number 5/15/00