Poetry

My Mother’s Hands

My mother’s hands
Are papery thin
How glorious and beautiful
Her veins running through them
like the Nile river
She tries to hide them
Saying they reveal too much
Yet the only thing I see
Are years of tireless nights in every crack
And selfless servitude in every fold
The next time I hold them
I’ll make sure she knows

About Living the Free Way

LTFW is a travel blog that emphasizes giving ourselves permission to do the things we love and stepping outside or our comfort zones. You can learn more about the author on the 'About' page.
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