Your hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.
Your hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Your hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Your hands were quick to show me that you would take care of it all.

Your hands were there to brush my hair, or rub it real slow
Your hands were often there to comfort the hurts that didn't always show.
Your hands helped hold the stars in place, and encouraged me to reach.
Your hands clapped and cheered when I had a star and held it within length.

Your hands would also push me, though not down or in harms way.
Your hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Your hands sometimes had to discipline, to help bend this young tree.
Your hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.


Your hands are now twisting with age and years of work,
Your hand now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Your hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Your hands are the reason, the reason I am me.