Gnarled hands and tired eyes the last in a chronicled memory.
Made with years of toil and loving care.
Are what remains of a mothers legacy.
Those hands, once so soft and warm
I've watched you grow from a little boy through the course of life,
Into a strong and gentle man now, who too, has children to enjoy.
Your goodness and your gentle nature, I did not instill in you.
This was ordained from God on High,
Candled people lined along the wall in animated merriment;
Their flashing faces all aglow.
Silhouetted shadows dancing in exaggerated mime,
Waxing to a fettered tune, consumed by an elusive time.