Maura ColletteMOORE1922 - 2012 I gazed at her hands as she rested peaceful asleep in her old rocking chair, so seldom idle their work never done toil from dawn to the setting sun. No rings on the fingers save a plain band of gold, hands once soft and lovely now worn and old. But the touch is still gentle as in childhood years, when they held me so close to still sorrow and fears. When the day comes that she's laid to rest, oh empty my life, oh vain be my quest. Not for fortune or fame for none can compare, with the love in those Hands, Precious Jewels so rare, the hands of my mother asleep in her chair. (M.C. Moore) (c) Best Love, your family x
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