Grandma’s hands were always ready
To take a break and play
Rumikube, dominoes
Whatever time of day.
Grandma’s hands were always busy
Joining us as we’d play
Building stilts, hunting marbles,
We were never in her way.
Grandma’s hands were always writing
Jotting down the news each day
The weather or a special event,
Or who had come her way.
Grandma’s hands were always crocheting
Warm afghans to cuddle in
Every shade and color of yarn
Through her hands would spin.
Grandma’s hands were always working
Giving a hand to Grandpa Art
In the fields, cutting wheat,
They were never far apart.
Grandma’s hands were always baking
Yummy goods for us to eat
Cookies, zweibach, cream puffs
It always was a treat.
Grandma’s hands were always gardening
Bringing life to those things green
She’d tend to them with a loving touch
A fig or a simple green bean.
Grandma’s hands were always turning
The pages of the Great Book
Comfort and answers she would gain
Everytime she’d take a look.
Grandma’s hands held my hand
And guided me on my way
Leading me to this moment
Where I am today.
I remember holding Grandma’s hands
Her’s weak, mine now strong
The memories of times together
Are with me all life long.
Grandma’s hands were like no others
In looks or by touch
We knew that we were special
She loved us very much.
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