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  • My Mother

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    Anonymous qAegy6G
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    The poem describes the speaker's appreciation and gratitude for their mother's hands. It lists different positive adjectives to describe the mother's hands in different caring contexts like touching, calling, hugging, feeding, stroking, serving, patting, relaxing, nursing, taking, warning, teaching, and helping the speaker. The document expresses how the speaker is thankful to have a heart like the mother's caring hands. The second passage describes the mother's hands as callused from years of hard work, but still warm and caring as they nurtured the speaker. The hands cooked, cleaned, and showed love through knitting and sewing. The third passage is a poem about the speaker's mother's hands and

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    My mother

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    The poem describes the speaker's appreciation and gratitude for their mother's hands. It lists different positive adjectives to describe the mother's hands in different caring contexts like touching, calling, hugging, feeding, stroking, serving, patting, relaxing, nursing, taking, warning, teaching, and helping the speaker. The document expresses how the speaker is thankful to have a heart like the mother's caring hands. The second passage describes the mother's hands as callused from years of hard work, but still warm and caring as they nurtured the speaker. The hands cooked, cleaned, and showed love through knitting and sewing. The third passage is a poem about the speaker's mother's hands and

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    102 views3 pages

    My Mother

    Uploaded by

    Anonymous qAegy6G
    The poem describes the speaker's appreciation and gratitude for their mother's hands. It lists different positive adjectives to describe the mother's hands in different caring contexts like touching, calling, hugging, feeding, stroking, serving, patting, relaxing, nursing, taking, warning, teaching, and helping the speaker. The document expresses how the speaker is thankful to have a heart like the mother's caring hands. The second passage describes the mother's hands as callused from years of hard work, but still warm and caring as they nurtured the speaker. The hands cooked, cleaned, and showed love through knitting and sewing. The third passage is a poem about the speaker's mother's hands and

    Copyright:

    Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
    Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
    Flag for inappropriate content
    Download as docx, pdf, or txt
    of 3

    My mother's hands

    Oh my God! My mothers hands blissful when she touches me My mothers hands beautiful when she calls me My mothers hands warmth when she hugs me My mothers hands delightful when she feeds me My mothers hands pleasurable when she strokes me My mothers hands wonderful when she serves me My mothers hands perfect when she pats me My mothers hands idyllic when she relaxes me My mothers hands lovely when she nurses me My mothers hands friendly when she takes me My mothers hands congenial when she warns me My mothers hands gratifying when she teaches me My mothers hands peaceful when she helps me Oh my Mother! I am thankful to make heart as your hands.

    callused from years of hard work. I used to like to hold them, feel their strength and warmth Those were the hands that cared caress ed and held me close. Those were the hands that scrubbed and washed, cooked for us and nursed. My mother had beautiful hands and would paint her nails light pink. that could crochet well and knit.

    Stroke Those were the hands that created, made beautiful shawls and clothes. Those were the hands that altered dresses I wore til they were old. My mother had beautiful hands that cooked and cleaned and scrubbed, and within the things that those hands did were bundles and bundles of love.

    Ruth Walters

    MY MOTHER'S HANDS
    After reading poem of same title by Joseph Farina

    Venera Fazio At five years of age my mother's hands kept pace with her sharecropper parents as they gathered sacks of almonds, hazelnuts, and winter olives. She knew their harvest was divided between them and the landowner, the Duke. My mother's hands remembered the poverty of her seven siblings as she tightly wound parcels in strips of faded bedsheets to ensure a safe postal journey to Sicily. Her hands stirred heavy pots of pasta large enough to feed two families, the five of us and the immigrant relatives we sheltered. My mother's hands smelled of pickle factory brine where she worked after my father's depression kept him home. My mother's hands paid a week's factory salary for my chiffon graduation dress, the colour of the cobalt Mediterranean she left behind. My mother's hands gently caressed the cheeks of her grandchildren. My mother's hands halted the dialysis machine declaring,

    my time has come. My mother's hands rested on the hospital bed sheet. Her body radiated white light of eternal grace.

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