A poem by K.S. (McGlamery) Ballou
My daughter’s hands, once so tiny,
When her delicate fingers
Could scarcely close ’round my thumb,
Now nearly match my own, but memory lingers.
As I recall those tired days,
Driving with one hand on the steering wheel,
The other comforting my baby girl,
My hands alone had the power to fulfill
Her every precious need;
I won’t waste the time to inquire
Where the time has gone.
Watching her grow has made me aspire
To be the best I can be, though I often fall short…
I know the time remaining when
She will let me hold her hand
With or without questioning will all too quickly end.