So soft and loving,
Your hands on my face
I felt special and warm
I knew you cared

So deft and strong
The way you kneaded dough
I learned at your hands
To feed those I love

With your hand in mine
I always felt brave
I could conquer any thing
A little squeeze was all it took

My hands on your face
Gentle and loving
I hope you felt special and warm
I hope you felt how much I cared


Your trembling hands
Would spill your food
So I fed you with the same
Hands that prepared your meal

Your hand in mine, I was still afraid
You couldn't give me that little squeeze
So trembling, I held tightly
Til my hands had to set you free

Some valleys are filled with wild flowers
and there are valleys filled with the dead.

A profusion of the very best
the bones of those who once lived.

Their voices silent as their dreams
wilderness will claim back her reign,

in the end, centuries will come and go
come and go, come and go

and a valley of the dead can revive
once more a profusion of wild flowers.

Don't be scared, Love;
show me your scars.
Give me a piece of your soul,
and maybe a glimpse of your mind.

I could show you beauty,
without a field of flowers.
And an amazing high,
without the foul aftertaste.

Just let me in,
let me feel your pain.
I'll touch your soul,
and make you go insane.

They carried us
Through gestation,
Or adopted
Without hesitation.
Our coming
Was a celebration,
Mothers are our affirmation.
They deliver.

When we're quiet
From travails,
She makes time
For school-yard tales.
The warmth of sunshine
Shyly pales
To her prevailing arms.

She fostered us
Til eyes dried out;
Cried alone
As we left her house;
Waiting by the door,
A balm and living cure.

When Moms do well
All can tell
The Madonna-like connection.
No need to forgive them,
We'll always grieve them;
Mothers love us
From conception.