“Hold my hand,” my parents would say
And I’d reach up, trustingly;
Knowing they’d watch out for things
I was much too small to see.
They’d hold my hand when in a crowd
Or when we would cross the street,
And I knew as long as I held on tight,
No danger with me would meet.
Where we went, their hands guided me;
I never looked where we’d go.
They pulled me forth, I trudged along –
My parents, with me in tow.
They held me back as the cars whizzed by,
Pulling me quickly from harm’s way.
When crowds hemmed us in, their strong hands
Kept all my terrors at bay.
In summertime, we’d walk along
I’d hold their hands happily.
They’d swing me high so I could take
Giant steps – bigger than mel
When winter care and it was cold;
Snow fell, icicles would form.
My hands like ice, and Daddy would say,
“Hold my hand; I’ll get you warm.”
When I started school, I was so scared,
I trembled and shook with fear;
I shyly hung back, but Momma said,
“Leta, hold my hand; I’m here.”
Years rolled by; I’d forgot those times,
But I thought of them today.
They held hands tight, ’til I was grown,
Then released me on life’s way.
My parents’ hands are wrinkled now;
Their fear catches me unawares.
Today, I held their trembling hands
As they faltered down the stairs.
“Hold my hand,” I say to them now,
And they reach out, trustingly.
Knowing I’ll watch out for things
Their failing eyes do not see.
COPYRIGHT C 1990 BY MOLETA RUTH MCCARTER, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
