My Son

 

By Miriam Laserson Varon

Some day this hand will outgrow mine.

These tiny fingers which I now entwine,

So soft to touch, so frail to press,

Will do man’s labor, skilled and bold,

Will play and punish, hurt and bless,

Carry a lover’s tendermost caress,

Will draw life’s pattern, line for line –

And then, perhaps, they may enfold

This hand of mine, all wrinkled and grown old.

 

This is one of Cathy’s favorite poems by her friend Miriam. 

laserson varon

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