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.