I gazed upon my mother, as she lay so frail and ill,
Her hands rested so quietly - they had never been so still.
Images filled my memory - my mother through the years,
Her hands were never empty - wiping noses, drying tears.
Showing small fingers how to color, cut and paste - original works of art,
Posting our pictures on the fridge, teaching us much - we felt so smart.
Gently rocking babies in her arms, combing a child's tangled hair,
Soothing many a sore, injured knee - mending cherished dolls with tender care.
She picked up toys, tied little shoes, folded piles of clothes, big and small,
I don't know where she found the time to so wonderfully complete it all.
Kneading soft, rich challah dough into loaves so fresh and sweet,
Baking birthday cakes and cookies, we just couldn't wait to eat.
Graceful hands floating in welcome for the peaceful Shabbos Queen,
Covering her eyes she quietly prayed for health and joy, and everything in between.
Cuddling children and grandchildren in arms, so near her loving heart,
Reading stories and singing songs, dividing treats into exact equal parts.
All this and more are my mother's hands with their nails trimmed short and neat,
Hands filled with guidance, love and purpose, their soothing touch warm and sweet.
These hands though rough and scarred are so beautiful to me and You,
The mitzvos they have done are precious, the home they've built honest and true.
Please heal this loving mother, Hashem, I plead through heartfelt tears,
Give merit for all the mitzvos these hands have done, throughout the years.
