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I saw you looking at your hands with disgust You hate them now and hide them you must But mama, there’s no shame in hands so worn Because all they’ve touched since you were born


You say you hate them ‘cause they’re so frail, So veined and aged and red, not pale You don’t remember how much they’ve done To bring the 5 of us to who we’ve become


You don’t remember the love they’ve shown The tireless tending to us we’ve known To tying the shoes and showing us how To guiding us through all we know now


You don’t remember they’ve nurtured us well That they soothed us so tenderly when we fell That they hugged and held us when we were hurt That they scrubbed and cleaned us of the dirt


You don’t remember that they wiped our tears That they gave us a refuge from our fears That they washed and doctored our injured knees And they offered a tissue when we sneezed


You have no reason to hate them now Without those hands we would not know how To use our own hands as you once did To soothe and nurture and worries to rid


We can hopefully teach our young ones now That our hands are special and that somehow It all began with your loving hands They are so special and that’s how it stands Mama, don’t hate them, ‘cause they’re etched with love And Daddy’s patiently waiting to hold them, up above.


Book Designed by Joe Carrick.

Images created by Joe Carrick

Poem written by Marcella L. True “Our Mama’s Hands”.



A Book Of Hands