To stroke and rub, clasp and grasp, strive with love.
Constant movers, strong and unlined beauty.
Restless in slumber, draped in servant’s glove.
I remember youthful grace and caring.
Embodying perfection in action.
Turned to little beasts with red knobs snarling.
Defied her will, withholding all compassion.
I gratefully remember hopeful smiles.
Touching beloved hands that I knew best.
“I love you, they said. I have walked my miles.
Time to let go. I want my sabbath rest.”
“Now we lay clasped and still. Our work is done.”
Her lovely hands now reach out for the Son.
