Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of children.
William Makepeace Thackeray
The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom of which you will always discover forgiveness.
Honore De Balzac
Mothers…. are the first book read and the last put aside in every child’s library.
c. Lenox Remond
My mother was the source from which I derived the guiding principles of my life.
Her hands held me gently from the day I took my first breath.
Her hands helped to guide me as I took my first step.
Her hands held me close when the tears would start to fall.
Her hands were quick to show me that she would take care of it all.
Her hands were there to brush my hair, or straighten a wayward bow.
Her hands were often there to comfort the hurt that didn’t always show.
Her hands helped hold the stars in place and encouraged me to reach.
Her hands would clap and cheer and praise when I captured them a length.
Her hands would also push me, thought not down or in harm’s way.
Her hands would punctuate the words, just do what I say.
Her hands sometimes had to discipline to help bend a young tree.
Her hands would shape and mold me into all she knew I could be.
Her hands now are twisting with age and years of work.
Her hands now needs my gentle touch to rub away the hurt.
Her hands are more beautiful than anything can be.
Her hands are the reason I am me.