Whose hand will hold Mom's?

I wonder whose hand will hold Mom's when she's seventy,

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When her skin is wrinkled, and her vision is blurry

When she sits by the couch, watching old romance on TV,

Patting her back, cuddling, making her coffee?

For sure when she was young like me

She must've envisioned she'd age happily

She and Daddy stronger and better

Each year as they celebrate their anniversary.

But Mom's hands aren't held by any man now

Since Daddy left, she seriously took a vow

She'd raise her daughters the best way she can

Even if she does it without a partner, a man.

Now with her daughters all grown up,

Each of them to their pursuits tied up, 

Visits to Mom get scarcer and scarcer,

I cannot help but start to ponder...

Who will hold Mom's hands?

No need to wonder,

We've got each other.