Hands

There she was born,

With small hands,

Cute and soft.

She tumbles and falls,

But never hurt her hands

As she grew,

Her hands became large. 

And began to hold toys and carts.

And there she goes to school,

With books and bags,

Soft and kind as her heart.

Now she turns women,

With strong long hands.

Strong enough to raise two boys,

With her care and love.

And when she grew old and tired,

Here her hands go weak and fragile.

Unable to raise her hand,

Ask for help or cry so loud.

And today there she lay,

In the grave.

Beneath the soil,

With her hands on her heart, 

With pride on her hands.