Of Love and Hands

Too long since I have held her outstretched hands,
her hands that hold my son throughout the day.
Her touch, through which her love for him expands,
exudes my own; I think of him.  I pray
his hands will always have her hands to guide
their courses as he learns and as he grows.
I held his hand and walked with him beside
before he walked alone; I hope he knows
I also held her hand, and will again.
We’ll take each hand in love and we will walk,
him on my left, her on my right and then
we’ll find a bench to rest upon, to talk
of love and how each touch of love demands
that love be felt and held in loving hands.

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