aging hands

They were the ones who were

strong when we were young,

and scooped us up in our dreamy state

tucking us safely into bed

on a cold wintery night.


They were the ones

that were always there drying tears,

tying shoelaces, fixing scraped knees.

They are aging now and it’s so hard to see.


Our mother’s love will never fade,

she is the softness of a Saturday morning

where cartoons would play,

and books would be read

and she’d always be there smiling.

She was the one that taught us

how to love, live strong and be free.

She is aging now, and it’s so hard to see.


Our father’s left us with our love

for butterflies and bugs,

and being silly when no one else was.

Where he could turn an old bicycle

into a work of art, painting it

and putting tassels on so you could fly

faster than anyone racing to the park.

He taught us to dance, to love and to laugh.

He is aging now and it’s so hard to see.


So as my father grows older,

and he tells me of the past,

there is one thing for certain,

the love from my father will always, always last.

And although they age with grace,

and we are not too far behind,

I am thankful for my mother

and all she leaves behind.


For growing old is timeless,

and it leaves us with this thought,

thank God for all our parents

and everything we were taught.


For now, as we are parents too,

and it’s through our child’s eyes we see,

we love our parents dearly.

They are aging now, and it’s so hard to see.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s