My Mother’s Hands

My Mother’s hands laced with blue

Have done most things that women do

Infants tended, clothing mended

Cooked the food, stayed level headed

During strife, days full and rich

Pulled life off without a hitch

Grumpy, mean and not so nice

I can’t think of one sacrifice

When my hands mirror hers

With memories blank or blurred

Will children see the things I’ve done?

Remember laughter and the fun

Smile through tears, don’t have a frown

I will not let my guard come down

When opposite I try to be

Not like her but being me

Children's Sight

My children have heard of mountains high with running babbling brooks

But the only ones they have seen were in borrowed library books

My children have heard of animals wild in lands both near and far

But the only ones they have heard growled behind a zoos' strong bars

My children have heard of flowers sweet, growing thick in shades of red

But the only ones they could find grew in the rows of plant nursery beds

Prisoners of the city, as sure as they can be 

Though their cells are never barred or have a lock and key

How can I teach of God's wisdom or his deep abiding love?

When all they see of his kingdom is a hawk fighting with a dove

But children's sight is special, just journey through their eyes

The things we think are gloomy don't ever touch their lives

Try to catch a sunbeam, laughter at the bug trapped in a tree

"Mommy I can't see you, that means you can't see me."

Grass up through the sidewalk, flowers from a crack

Squinting at the clouds while lying on their backs

Rich or Poor, no matter, as long as there is love

They feel the light and blessings that come down from above

Joy in life and living and thanking Him each day

My children teach a lesson, and in a special way...

If we could overlook the bad and see as children do 

 Our days would be like heaven and sad times be but few