Silhouetted on the wall of our small cabin
Were the hands that rocked the cradle where I lay.
Tiny creatures they created for my pleasure
In the wee hours just before the break of day.
Through the years those hands were there when they were needed,
To give comfort, care, and discipline to me.
Day and night with little rest they never faltered,
Guiding me through dangers I could not yet see.
Now the hands that rocked my cradle have grown weary;
They're not able to be at my beck and call.
So I gently rock the chair of their sweet master,
And make silhouettes for her upon the wall.
Tina Rae Collins
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