A Mother’s Hands

As I was walking home one day,
I came across a lady fair.
She had a skin of ebony
And a mane of silky hair.

Her hands looked soft and pale,
Her nails were nicely trimmed.
Her fingers were long and slender,
And shapely too, it seemed.

Yet in all their glory,
Those hands have never held,
A crying baby in the night,
Or fish that really smelled.

They have never dipped themselves
In mud and dirt and grime,
Or held a big, old broomstick,
And made the house floor shine.

These hands have never changed
A dirty diaper or two.
And never made a single snack,
Or fixed up cabbage stew.

And most certainly I tell you,
They never got to hold,
A child’s most loving hand,
And this is truth be told.

My mama’s hands are wrinkly,
And calloused through all the years,
But these hands have nurtured me,
And wiped away my tears.

Fair lady, I say to you,
Your hands will never be,
As beautiful as the ones,
Mama scarred for me.

A/N: I don't like my mother much, no,notas a person. But that doesn't change the fact that she sacrificed a lot to bring me into this world and raise me. I love her as a mother and it will stay that way forever. I love you, mom.