My Son's Hands
It's the middle of the night
when your crying comes to me
and my body says "no, please, no"
but my love says "Mommy's here".
I gather your tiny boyself in my tired arms
and as I pull you to my warmth
I smell your fragrant newness
and kiss your downy head.
The just as I did reach for you
your little balled fists rise up to my face,
to my voice,
to search in tender jagged thrusts
and clasp whatever prey they find.
I kiss each fragile finger
and breathe a prayer on each.
May you always reach for love,
may you find it always there,
may you always touch in tenderness,
the people in your care.
May you grasp the work of duty,
may you feel the need to share.
May you hold the truth of Jesus
as a torch you always bear.
May your heart reach ever upward
To grasp the God who placed you there.
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