my mother’s hands are

my mother’s hands are
magical –
folding stories
into each morsel,
coaxing wild-
flowers to take
flight – an anchor
in all sorts
of weather


  1. Kim

    If this poem is a cake, I’d swallow it whole. 😀
    Kinda of a weird thing to say, but you know what I mean. 😉
    Thanks for sharing!!! This is brilliant!!! ❤

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