My tiny fingers secured in trust,
Where learning of love’s embrace first grew,
Her hand, a home – safe yet just,
Held me as life’s first breaths I drew.
Through life’s timid, youthful days,
When childhood fears took command,
Her presence pushed back terror’s haze,
Guiding with her gentle hand.
When teenage storms would rage and swell,
My rebellion invaded our home with strife,
Her pointed gesture, firm yet well,
Steered me back to the course of life.
In triumphs, when the crowd would cheer,
Her joyous applause, my pride’s own band,
In heart break, when hope was sheer,
A soothing touch, a comforting hand.
Now grown, my own journey to tread,
Her wisdom in each choice and plan,
Her hands, in prayer by her bed,
Still holding hope as life expands.
Through every stage, her present grand,
A constant in this life’s vast span,
Her hands, though lined and softly worn,
Hold the story of a love lifelong.
Photo by James Wheeler on Unsplash
Charles Gregory, Author 
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