This is a poem for Mother’s Day
Before a mother’s hands become
the hands we love and know
two little feet appeared
and ten little toes.
Soft and pink and untrod
and unaware what feet can do.
Not yet covered by a sock
or a leather shoe.
The person holding the baby
is the first person the baby gets to know.
Those hands express love as the
baby is rocked to and fro
to an unknown rhythm,
to an unknown beat,
the first music pattern
the baby gets to meet.
Mother’s hands are always busy.
They have lots to do;
burping, stirring, washing,
wiping away icky goo.
Always guiding,
always helping,
always ready to care
for whatever happens in baby’s life
Mother is always there.
The time comes around fast enough
when the child has to learn what to do.
How to comb their hair,
how to tie on a shoe.
But the child will always know
their mother will always be there
for them wherever they go.
Mother will always care.
Through My Eyes 