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Motherly Hands
by
Monorum Horl
They have dug dirt,
Have been sliced through
By the cruelty of man;
They-have been frozen as cold
As a scene
Beneath an autumn moon.
They are wrinkled
By the many months,
Or years,
Or decades
Of overwork;
Darkened by the shadows of life.
Bones have been broken
Like the leaves which autumn now dismisses
And which have been crushed,
Rustled,
Walked on,
Thrown away,
Or blown away
By the better of things.
Until now,
Through blinding tears
I look back once more
To see the apparitions of those hands,
Which have touched my heart,
And which have reached
A heavenly place there.
Until now,
As I grudgingly regret,
Wish to thank them much
In a time that is now too late:
For they have turned
Quite gray and cold.
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