These hands are not the hands of a fairy.
They gently pat the child in their arms.
They are so gentle.
These hands are not impressive at all,
but they shoulder the responsibility of raising the family,
they never complain.
These hands are already covered with thick calluses.
The stitches are always pricking them mercilessly.
It still doesn’t stop.
Although these hands are not those of a chef,
they are able to create a table full of delicacies.
How wonderful it is.
These hands are no longer white.
Time has quietly left its mark.
It insists on giving.
Now I finally see these hands clearly.
They are the hands of mothers all over the world.
They are always warm.