Grandmother's hands were rough and worn,
From a lifetime in the kitchen,
They kneaded bread and scrubbed clothes,
And mended anything that was missions.
Those hands taught me to quilt,
And quilt patterns in all designs,
They showed me how to thread a needle,
And other useful times.
The arthritis twisted them some,
But still they held so dear,
The memories of all the love,
They gave throughout the year.
Now when I quilt or bake bread,
I feel her presence near,
Grandmother's hands upon my own,
Remind me she's still here.
CC0 License
This song is released under CC0 (Public Domain Dedication). You may use it for any purpose, including commercially.