You are, the hands that feed our loved ones,
When their strength’s no longer there.
You are, the legs that push the wheelchair,
And the brush that combs their hair.

You are, the absent family member,
Who forgot to pay a call,
You are, the one who’s there to comfort,
You are, the one who does it all.

You are, the only one to turn to,
In the middle of the night,
When lonely hours are endless,
And tomorrow’s out of sight.

You are, the angel in a uniform,
Who calms the worried mind,
When dreams become reality,
When life is not so kind.

You are, the one who holds the feeble hand,
When life grows near the end,
You are, the one who’s grown from nursing,
To a loved and valued friend.

You are, the one who is a gentle gift,
When time relinquishes measure.
Holding onto the hand, drifting away,
You are, ones final earthly pleasure.