Saturday, October 19, 2013

Little hands

Little hands now,
Little hand then,
If only I could being them
back again.
I look and ponder,
I see and wonder,
How the littlest of hands
Have grown into little hands.
I tried to take it all in,
I sat and watched,
I stayed and remained,
I thought I could hold it all in.
But alas, she grew,
She grew and she grew and she grew
She grew until she became three
And became more her than me.
Her hands are tender,
They are sweet and soft.
They bring forth wonders,
and happiness and thoughts.
She touches flowers,
Plays with dirt,
Holds a railing,
Grips my shirt.
Back then I helped,
Now I ease,
Who knows tomorrow
If she will still be pleased.
One day those hands will no longer be this little,
this fragile, or this eager.
So for now I hold her hand as much as I can.
I try to be there as long as I can.
When she's awake,
Or in her sleep,
I hold her hand,
I hold my keep.

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