The hands that wove this hammock
In a tropical land of colors
Where bright reds, greens, purples, and
Aquamarines, splashed everywhere on its
Birds, flowers and waters there;
Dextrous and practical, the hands
That wove this hammock, never manicured
Perhaps lovingly they grazed over their
Swaddled babies--they surely pulsed
With life and love, like mine.
They navigated the rippling patterns
Of threads and bound us
Embracing my baby and me
Strangers up in the land of snow and mountain
Where we ponder in peace in sway,
The hands that wove this hammock.