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 empty headed

During strife, days full and rich

Pulled off her life without a hitch

Grumpy, mean and not so nice

I can't think of a simple sacrifice

So, when my hands mirror hers

With memories blank or blurred

Will my children see the things I've done?

Remember the laughter and the fun

Smile through tears, Never a frown

I'll not let my guard come down

When opposite ever I try to be

Not like her... but being me