Love this picture I took of my husband and one of our heifers.

Working Woman's Hands (An original poem by Dawn Nelson)

Working Woman’s Hands

I was standing in line at the market the other day

When I saw a young girl, look up at her mother and say

Mom what is wrong with that ladies hands behind us in line

I looked around then realized she was talking about mine

I watched the mother smugly turn to her daughter and say

My momma said you can tell a lady by her hands any day

With hands like that a woman can’t be good for much in life

Pretty hands are needed to live happy and be a good wife

 

I looked down at my hands to see what the fuss was for

Granted they were dry, cracked and from a broken knuckle still sore

My thumb was swollen from where a cow smashed it last night

And my hand was black and blue from breaking up the dogs fight

 

The scar from the branding iron was still able to be seen

Just above my scratched and dented golden wedding ring

I had to admit my hands showed years of work and neglect

But about me not being a lady she was incorrect

I looked at the lady with her soft hands and designer gown

I wanted to pay for my groceries and head fast out of town

I looked down at my little cowgirl who stood at my side

Her feet braced, hands on hips, eyes squinted and mouth open wide

Looking less in her eyes was the only thing I didn’t want to see

I wondered if she was embarrassed by being seen with me

There is nothing wrong with my mother’s hands, I heard her say

She is tougher than anyone I know, even on her worst day

Every scar on my mother’s hands, has a story to tell

From wild cow chasing wrecks to the day she and her horse fell

My mother’s hands comforted me when I got hurt and cried

They even held the head of Mom’s best horse in her lap as she died

I proudly watched my mother save a newborn calf’s life

And I have often seen Dad kiss her and call her a good wife

So you may think that my mom is less of a lady then you

I’ll be the first to tell you, I know for sure that isn’t true

A tear slid down my cheek as she said, I think you should understand

I am the proudest eight year old to hold this working woman’s hand