Richard L. Merila
Click here to add this poet to your My Favorite Poets.
Comments about Richard L. Merila
My Mother's Hands
My Mother's hands, oh, the memories of them bring a sadness to my soul!
Aged, wrinkled and worn, My Mother's hands; oh, the memories, how I love them so
The coolness of my Mother's hands upon my fevered brow...
My Mother's hands, where are they now?
A time to be remembered; a time to be forgotten;
The memories as my mother's hands held me, broken.
A time to cherish, a time to adore.
The memories of my Mother's hands when I came back from war.
Injured from service in faraway lands,
I was soothed with the touch of my Mother's hands.
I know My Mother's ...