Mama, the sound of hands that give,
A gift, a touch, the way we live.
Mama to the cradle, to please.
The open hand, so soft, so wide,
It offers, it nurtures, it guides.
In every curve of sound, we hear,
dissonance of a hand sincere,
Mama, her name, carried with ease—
The hands that lift, the hands that hold,
Warm with love, and the stories told.
Mama reaches out like a tree,
symbol of love’s infinity.
Two hands, entwined, go to great length.
Mama holds close, with tender might,
A hand that shields, through day and night.
In every language, every tongue,
The hands of mothers, always sung.
Mama’s hands, giving of her strength,
Eternal, a gesture we know—
Lifting, giving, the love we show.
So when we speak her name, so true,
the sound of hands she gave to you—
A gift from the start, the heart of all,
The sound of “Mama,” our first call.

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