The Hands That Never Rest by Walking Shadow poetry

She wakes before the world can see,
Rubs her eyes, prepares her tea.
The kids are calling, time moves fast,
No moment lingers, nothing lasts.

First, she packs the little bags,
Checks the homework, grabs the tags.
Then off she goes, another race,
Between the workplace and her place.

Some are married, some alone,
Single moms who build a home.
No helping hand, no one near,
Yet still, they push despite the fear.

Young mothers, barely grown,
Holding babies on their own.
Dreams postponed but never gone,
They work all night, then face the dawn.

And then, the widows, hearts so strong,
Carrying pain, yet moving on.
They wipe the tears, they wear a smile,
Though grief may stay for quite a while.

Step moms too, a love so deep,
Raising kids they didn’t keep.
Bridging gaps with care so true,
Making families out of two.

Despite it all, the endless weight,
The love, the loss, the twist of fate
They show up strong, they stand up tall,
They give their children, friends, their all.

Then night arrives, she takes a seat,
Finally, rests her aching feet.
But even then, inside her head,
Tomorrow’s list is being read.

The world may ask, “How do they cope?”
They smile, they fight, they cling to hope.
For every tear and every test,
A working mom still gives her best.

So here’s to you, your love, your grace,
Your endless strength, your steady pace.
Today we cheer, today we see,
A mother works relentlessly.