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by Denny Lancaster 230614
In the sanctity of marriage there are two,
both mother and dad hold our wee hand,
gently guide us in our journeys over land.
Hands lovingly given to lift us when we fall,
but dads seemed to be the strongest of all,
hard as steel when we had done wrong.
On fathers day we remember his hands,
cupped and held up to his broad chin,
praying for us in a new life we would begin.
Large hands which held momma tight,
while together they stayed up all night,
praying we would return and be all right.
Even now, after many years since he left,
when courage or strength answer a call,
dad's hands are remembered most of all.
And now when momma is quiet and still,
and the tears seem to be never ending,
a quiet hush comes into the room,
and his hands to her he is sending.
Grand children seem to be cuddled tight,
our puppies sense things are all right,
minds are cleared from darkness by light,
and his hands are praying with might
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