These hands are those that first held you to my breast,
That helped you suckle and to rest
Safe within my arms.
These hands are those that soothed you when you cried,
When your young dreams and hopes died
Before they even started.
These hands are those that encouraged and clapped
You in your race,
Waving you on to find the pace
To set you up for life.
These hands are those that washed your grubby knees;
Held the fingers up to remind you to say please
And protected you from danger.
These hands are those that wrote,
In letters and on cards, words of love
For a wedding and for births
Of children of her child.
Now, these are the hands
That you must hold to your heart
And stroke, and cover with soft kisses
Until the time for her to depart.
November 12th, 2019
© Angela Petch
See RAC online magazine’s July 2019 interview with Angela Petch here.
I live in the beautiful Italian Apennines for several months each year. Such an inspiring location.
My love affair with Italy was born at the age of seven when I moved with my family to Rome where we lived for six years. My father worked for the Commonwealth War Graves Commission and he made sure we learned Italian and visited many places during that time.
Later on I studied Italian at the University of Kent at Canterbury and afterwards worked in Sicily, where I met my husband. His Italian mother and British father met in Urbino in 1944 and married after a war-time romance.