Gone…
Mom’s hands seem weaken and meek.
And her grip is quite weak.
Yet these hands have the strength to raise a family right,
Tirelessly wipe away each sorrow and hold us real tight.
Feeble hands come together each day in prayer,
The warm and comforting touch, always closer.
I pause and listen as each breath came slow,
And scramble to find strength, emotions low.
As dry tears emerge and finally broke free
I watched you leave, where eyes cannot see.
Fresh memories from another time
That are long gone, yet still sublime.
(Mom, we still miss you so much. Keep praying for us from above. Love you)
